


The Human Zoo

by Jdragon122, riseofthefallenone



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe: Fantasy, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Dean, Blow Jobs, Bottom Castiel, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Bottom Dean Winchester, Creature Castiel, Creature Fic, Demiromantic Castiel, Disabled Character, Discrimination, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Limited Third Person, M/M, Major Character Injury, Present Tense, Size Difference, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Strangers to Lovers, Switching, Top Castiel, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Top Dean Winchester, Winged Castiel, alternate universe: sci-fi, alternating pov, meet cute
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:27:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 34,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29597616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jdragon122/pseuds/Jdragon122, https://archiveofourown.org/users/riseofthefallenone/pseuds/riseofthefallenone
Summary: Aetherians are a technologically advanced race that live in floating cities above the clouds. They have always considered themselves better than the creatures that live in the dirt - including homo sapiens. As such, they have no problem housing a few in their zoos.Castiel, a Sapien Sympathizer (a minority among Aetherians), doesn’t believe that homo sapiens should be in a zoo. They may be primitive, but they are far too sentient to be caged. This only becomes more clear to him the better he comes to know the Zoo’s newest, and youngest male, addition: Specimen Designation 1-M-7.The longer he works with 1-M-7, the stronger Castiel’s convictions become. And, one day, he’s going to find a way to set him free.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 37
Kudos: 160





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks and much love to [lunastories](https://jdragon122.tumblr.com/>jdragon122<a/>%20and%20<a%20href=) for all their brainstorming help while I was world building. And for jdragon122 to collaborate with me on character design and aspects of the plot because she is a DARLING and I adore her. ♥
> 
> Collaboration with and [concept art by jdragon122](https://jdragon122.tumblr.com/post/641226657048461312/here-it-is-folks-castiel-and-deans-design-for) | [fanart](https://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/hz%20art) | [Tumblr fic tag](https://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/fic%3A-human-zoo) | [Vocabulary](https://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/641578566441664512/vocabulary-for-the-human-zoo-this-will-be) | Specimen Designations
> 
> **Confused why this is being reposted? Because my DUMBASS accidentally deleted the entire work while messing around with drafts. I'm so sorry. All kudos, comments, subscriptions, and bookmarks have been lost. I feel so bad about this, you guys. I'm so sorry.**

The wooden planks creak under Dean’s feet. His heart pounds in his chest, a cold sweat slipping down his spine, and he grips Sam’s hand a little harder than necessary. It doesn’t matter how many years pass, he doesn’t think he’s _ever_ going to be used to the heights of the village. If he gets too close to the edge of the platform, he gets dizzy and his stomach goes tight.

He’s been alive to see six winter seasons, and not once has he ever heard of someone falling through a bridge or walkway. Every day, _Äity_ – his mother – tells him over and over that the village is safe. Dean doesn’t need to worry because everyone works hard to maintain the village so they can move around without the fear of falling. He finds it hard to believe, and he really doesn’t think their people belong in the trees.

Thick branches support the platforms of the village. Posts line the edges with nets of vines strung between each of them, made strong by the addition of rope. Dean has even helped his parents make the rope. He’s gone down to the forest floor with them, found the fibrous plants, gathered them, and carried them back up. They sat in their home tree, took sharpened flint, and spent days peeling and cutting them into strips before weaving them together.

Dean likes working with his hands. He could sit forever on his mattress and cut and weave all day every day. What he _doesn’t_ like is being taken outside to add the netting to the posts, or to be shown how to remove one of the planks of the platforms to replace it when the wood gets old and rotted. He’d rather stay inside or on the ground, and, luckily, there isn’t much for him to do outside of his family tree.

If they’re not down on the ground to hunt and fish, or to gather fruits, or dig up vegetables, or find the plants they use for seasoning, healing, or whatever, then they stay inside their family tree. They’re always busy cooking, learning, tanning, making something. And, of course, Dean is _always_ watching Sammy. He’s small and curious and Dean has to keep him safe. Someone’s gotta do it, and _Otehkö_ – his father – said that it was Dean’s job as his older brother; his _hëmdrë._ Just like how Dean is going to have to look after everyone in the village one day when he becomes _Taafër_ – the leader of the village.

Sam steps on the creaking board again, giggling in delight at the sound. He rocks back and forth on it, chubby hand flailing happily. Dean pulls a piece of charcoal from the pouch at his hip and crouches to draw a large X symbol in the center of the board. It’ll warn others that it’s getting old and to keep an eye on it. Eventually, it will be replaced.

A commotion rises across the way on another platform, and Sam starts pulling towards it. Dean is a whole four years older than him. Since Sam has only seen two winters, and Dean is much bigger than him, so it’s easy to hold him back and keep him back from the edge of the platform. He’s not scared of heights like Dean is. Sam has no problem with leaning against the netting and looking out at everything happening below.

“No, Sammy.” Dean tugs him back to stay closer to the trunk of the tree. “It’s not safe.”

“ _De-e-e-ean_!” Sam’s bottom lip juts out in a pout and he pulls harder. “Wan’ _see_!”

He points towards the solid bridge connecting the branches of his home tree to the one next to it. From there, one of the sagging bridges - held up with ropes and vines - stretches to the platform across the small clearing below. That’s the up-down place where ladders of wood and rope can be unrolled down, down, down to the ground and everyone climbs up, up, up with packs or baskets or children strapped to their backs.

People of the tribe are gathering along bridges and platforms around the clearing, watching because hunters have returned. Dean just can’t wrap his head around how everyone else can just walk around without needing to stay close to the tree trunks, or having to keep a hand on the rope. People keep passing by, cutting around them to take one of the many different paths through the village that lead to the up-down place.

The hunters are coming back today, but Dean is too far back from the edge of the walkway to see the clearing. He can hear many voices, though. Shouting and organizing. One of those voices belongs to his _otehkö_ , current _Taafër_ of the tribe.

From where he stands, Dean can see the up-down place. A group of grown-ups are working to secure an old canoe. It’s too old to use on the river, but it’s still useful. They put holes in the edges and looped rope through them, and also underneath it into grooves they cut into the frame. The ropes go up and up into the branches overhead and hang down again. It takes more than one grown up to lower the canoe down to the ground, and even more needed to haul it back up with whatever supplies need to be brought up to the village.

Dean holds his breath and even Sam stops to watch as the grown-ups push the canoe off the edge of the platform. It swings out into the air and they slowly start to lower it out of sight. Right away, Sam starts pulling again. He wants to get closer and see, because he’s fearless. Not Dean, though. But, for Sammy, he can be a little braver.

“Not too close, Sammy.” Dean swallows thickly and takes a deep breath. “Just a little bit, okay?”

Sam graces him with a wide smile, showing all his tiny teeth. Slowly, because Dean drags his heels, they move closer to the edge. They’re close enough that Sam can reach out with his other hand and grab a fistful of the safety net. He leans over, peering down and letting Dean take all of his weight.

With a clatter loud enough to be heard across the clearing, the rolls of ladders are kicked over the edge of the up-down place. Sam gasps excitedly as they unroll down, down, down until they’re touching the ground. Dean still isn’t close enough to see, but it’s not long before hunters start climbing into view with their empty pack frames on their backs.

One of them is their _otehkö_.

“ _Oteh_ ’!” Sam almost screams when he notices him. He lets go of the net to wave enthusiastically.

It’s loud enough for _Otehkö_ to hear. He glances over his shoulder, grins, and swings around to wave back. Dean feels queasy and lightheaded because his _otehkö_ is only holding on to the ladder with one hand and one foot. If the wood bar he’s standing on snaps, or if he loses his grip on the one in his hand, he could fall and it’s a _long_ drop down.

Dean still waves, though. Even if he’s scared for everyone, and he’s uncomfortable being this far from the wide trunk of the tree, he’s still excited that they’re all home safe and sound. The hunters have been gone for many days now, searching for the great horned _hiruut_. Their horns and bones make excellent tools, their hides can be cured into useful leathers, and their meat is tender and delicious.

The _hiruut_ are plant eaters and pretty shy, running away at the first snap of a twig, but Dean has definitely heard stories of how hunters have been injured by their horns. Sometimes a male will alert the herd and then charge a hunter down if they get too close. Dean isn’t fully convinced that there are animals in this forest that can’t or won’t try to kill them. Everything is dangerous, somehow, and it’s a lot for him to have to keep Sammy (and, eventually, the whole village) safe from.

But nothing that lives in the forest is as scary as the _Vingkäitä_. It’s almost their season; the time of the year when they’re seen most often in the skies over the forest. They’re _very_ dangerous, and Dean has spent the last few days worrying that one (or all) of the hunters wouldn’t be coming back because of them. He’s never seen a _Vingkäita_ himself, but the central tree of the village has many paintings of them drawn inside on the rough walls, and everyone has a carved figurine of one in their home.

They look like people, but aren’t people; huge monsters with wings, horns, clawed feet, and feathers where feathers don’t belong. _Äity_ says that keeping a carving of them in their homes is to help keep them away. Dean doesn’t know how that helps. _He_ thinks it’s so every child in the village knows what they look like, so they know what to run and hide from when the _Vingkäitä_ season comes around.

Aside from the fear, Dean kind of likes this season. It usually lasts two cycles of the moon, and they spend almost all their time safe inside the trees. Every family tree has big clay pots filled with water stored on one of the levels. Dean helped fill them this year. They carry the water from the river in water-tight skin sacks, or pots they balance on their heads. The canoe-lift brings it all up and they fill everyone’s stores one by one.

And, throughout the year, they picked grains from the fields to the east to grind into a powder that could be mixed with water, fruit, and animal fat to make into heavy cakes. They have casks of dried fruits and vegetables that they’ve died out or crushed into jams. The meat gets smoked in one of the structures built up in the branches of the tree, or is dried out in the sun. Dean hasn’t been taken up to see how it’s done yet, but one day he will. He’s not looking forward to it.

The food is shared throughout the tribe. Everyone knows to be careful with it during the moons of the _Vingkäitä_ season, but everyone will share to make sure no one goes hungry. Dean likes that about his village. They all take care of each other, and the _Taafër_ takes care of everyone. When he grows up, it’ll be his job to leave his home during the _Vingkäitä_ season and go from tree to tree, checking to make sure that everyone is okay and has enough food and water.

Until then, Dean has to stay inside their family tree during this time of the year. It’s kind of boring, because they have to keep themselves entertained all by themselves for _ages_ , but he does learn a lot during this time. He learns about plants and animals, the weather, the water, and, most importantly, all about the people.

 _Otehkö_ will sit him down and teach him the history of their village. Dean knows all about how their tribe split from the other tribe on the edge of the great flatlands, and how that tribe had left the one at the base of the mountain on the far edges of the forest. There was even a group of people from Dean’s tribe that packed up and left a long, long time ago to go live by the big waters. _Otehkö_ has been to see them, and their tribe is as big as this one, if not bigger.

Even though there’s a lot of interesting stuff to learn, there’s a lot of boring stuff too. Dean hates having to listen to stories about a lot of old people that he’s never met, but, apparently, it’s important for him to know it all. Sometimes he thinks taking over as _Taafër_ is just going to be a big pain in the neck. But that’s what he’s gotta do, because he’s the son of the current _Taafër_ , who was son of the last _Taafër_ , and the daughter of the last, and so on.

Dean will have to suffer through two moons of that before he can go down to the ground again. And when he does, his parents will make him put to the test everything they taught him. He’ll be asked about the information they shared, and point out plants they described, and which are good and which are bad. It’s a lot for only six winters, but Dean works hard to remember it all.

Thankfully, he’s too young to be taken to the very top of the tree yet. Only _Otehkö_ goes up there to confirm that the _Vingkäitä_ season has begun. There is no ladder that leads up that high. _Otehkö_ climbs the branches until he can see above the canopy, checking for the signs that the _Vingkäitä_ are returning to this area. Dean hasn’t seen it himself, but _Äity_ says a cloud of dark shadows is in the sky far away, and it slowly passes from horizon to horizon. While the cloud can be seen, the _Vingkäitä_ are still around, and the tribe has to stay hidden.

Only the grown-ups are allowed to go outside during this season, and only for emergencies. It’s a big risk and Dean has stood at the covered entrance to his family tree, worried and waiting every time his _otehkö_ or _äity_ has gone out during the season. _Vingkäitä_ steal people. No one knows what they do with them, but they’re taken and never seen again.

Charlie, one of the other children and one of Dean’s closest friends, told him that they eat the people they take. She’s kinda scary sometimes, so Dean isn’t really sure if he should believe her. The _Vingkäitä_ have been around for generations. _Äity_ says her parents, and their parents, and their parents, and _their_ parents, have stories going back for longer than anyone can remember.

They’ve always been around, but still no one knows what they do with the people they take. No bodies, no bones. The tribes extend to the Plains, the Mountains, and the Seas. Traders come by every once in a while, and they all have the same information; the taken are never seen again.

Dean can’t wait for when his parents think he’s old enough to travel. He wants to go to the other tribes and see how they live. He wants to see the big water, and the mountains that look like a smudge on the horizon. _Otehkö_ says they’re _huge_ , and take many days of travel to get to. Dean wants to see it with his own eyes, though he probably won’t climb them if they’re too tall. But the great flatlands? How flat are they? Are they really flat and empty, and you can see in all directions?

There are maps in his family tree drawn on rolls of hide with charcoal. Dean wants to do enough exploring when he grows up to have to make a whole new map to include all the new land that he’ll find. He wants to go _beyond_ the mountains. How exciting would that be? And it would be on the _ground_ , not up in the trees with the long, long, long drop down to the roots.

It feels like it takes _forever_ , but _Otehkö_ finally finishes climbing the ladder. Dean breathes easy again when he’s standing and clapping the shoulders of the other grown-ups that greet him.

" _Äity_!” Dean turns and calls over his shoulder. “ _Otehkö_ is home.”

A moment later, _Äity_ ducks out through the opening into their family tree. Her light hair is tied up with a strip of hide, and streaks of soot smudge her face and hands. Dean feels a little bad for not helping her like he was supposed to. They were going to clean out the hearth before _Otehkö_ got back.

The hearth is on the main level of their family tree. Another section of the trunk had been cut out a long time ago and an oven of stove and mud was made there instead. It’s where they cook their meat, bake bread, or bake clay into all sorts of things Dean is still learning the names of. The fire in the hearth keeps them warm during the colder months too. The smoke gets out through a hole on the outside, and Dean has seen it leak out and curl up into the branches. Sometimes he wonders if it makes it through and if the other tribes can see it.

 _Äity_ leans out over the netting to look down. “Oh, good. It looks like the hunt went well. Come see how many _hiruut_ they caught, Dean.”

He shakes his head and tugs Sam further from the edge. “Nah.”

She smiles at him with a little shake of her head, but she’s too nice to make him do it. That’s why Dean loves her best. “Will you come with me to go see your _otehkö_?”

“Ya’!” Sam waves his free arm at her until she scoops him up and sits him on her hip. “ _Hëmhëm_ too?”

“Your _hëmdrë_ can come with us if he wants to.” _Äity_ taps Sam on the nose and ruffles Dean’s hair as she walks by, heading for the bridge that crosses to the up-down place.

Dean shifts from one foot to the other and grips the fabric of his loin cloth, worrying it between his fingers. He hates being left alone out here. There’s no one to steady him, or catch him if he starts to fall. There’s always the option of going back into the family tree, but then he’ll be alone and who knows how long it’ll take for his family to come join him.

Time to be brave!

With a swallow and a deep breath, Dean reaches out to grab the rope and vine netting. He skims his hand across the top of it, skipping over the posts, and follows it to the bridge. This is the part he hates most. There’s a lump in his throat and his hand shakes as he edges out after _Äity_ and Sam. If he keeps his eyes on his parents, he might be able to make it across without crying.

Hopefully he’ll outgrow his fear of heights one day.

The sun is warm on Dean’s skin and he spreads his arms so he can feel it everywhere. He should take off his loincloth and be warm _everywhere_. Sam is already naked beside him. After nearly _three_ moons of being cooped up in the family tree during the _Vingkäitä_ season, it’s impossible to get him to keep his clothes on now that they’re finally allowed outside.

Now that the season is over, the tribe is going to celebrate with a feast of fresh meat, fruit, and vegetables. It’s also the celebration that will mark Dean’s seventh year, and Sam’s fourth. Dean doesn’t know how old his parents are, or any of the other grown-up, but Charlie will be seven too. She’s down at the river with his _Äity_ and hers, fishing and refilling waterskins upstream of where others are bathing. If Dean was a good _hëmdrë_ , he would take Sam down to the bathing area, but he’s too excited to be out and about again for that just yet.

Others still are setting up racks in the clearing at the edge of the river, hanging hides and woven blankets to dry in the sun after being cleaned and beaten against the rocks. Dean is too small to help with that, but he can’t wait until he can do that. It looks like fun, and then he can do more than sing along with the songs they beat the clothing to.

Sam isn’t at all interested in anything happening at the riverside. He wanders naked through the grass and most of Dean’s focus is on keeping him from wandering towards the shallows. Dean even has trouble helping out like he wants to. When they first came down to the river, he tried helping with the racks, and carrying the blankets to the water, but Sam comes first. _Äity_ told him it was more important that he keep an eye on Sam.

Luckily, there’s a lot that Dean can distract Sam with. There are a _lot_ of berry bushes nearby. Dean has a basket and he holds one side while Sam holds the other. He leads the way and Sam follows along, the grass almost up to his shoulders. As soon as Sam spots the berries, he drops the basket and staggers forward. Dean is right behind him, and he starts picking. Sam helps, but for every fistful that goes into the basket, another goes into his mouth, blue smearing across his chubby little cheeks.

“Slow down, Sammy.” Dean taps him on the head. “Or you’re gonna get a tummy ache.”

Sam does slow down a bit, but he’s still focused on eating more than picking for the basket. Dean rolls his eyes at him, only to notice a big log crushing the grass just away from the bush. It’s been there a long time. Long enough for soft green moss growing over it, and it’s gone weak ‘coz half of it is falling inside. A bunch of mushrooms are sprouting under it, fat white heads on fat bodies.

Dean grins at the discovery and points it out to Sam. “Look!”

“Shroom?” Sam shuffles over to squat next to them. He pokes one. “Eat shroom?”

“They’re better cooked.” Dean brings the basket over and crouches next to him. “Do you remember what onions look like? They’re good with that.”

Sam’s face scrunches up while he thinks and glances around. “Mebbe...”

Dean has tried to be a good _hëmdrë_ and teach Sam the things that he’s been taught. Sam sort of knows which plants to avoid touching, like the lobed three leaf plant that makes your skin red and really, really, _really_ itchy if you touch it. He kinda knows the good plants too, like the white flower with a yellow middle that Dean has seen the grown-ups boil into a calming tea, or mash into a paste to put on swelling and make it better.

While Sam studies the grass around them for the green shoots of garlic or onions. Either would be good to add to the food they’re going to cook at the celebration. Dean finds a kinda flat rock nearby and he uses the edge to help him dig up the mushrooms. He tosses them into the basket, mouth already starting to water thinking about how good _fresh_ food is going to taste tonight. If they roast these over a fire, they’ll taste _amazing_.

His shoulders are starting to get really warm in the direct sunlight. Dean realizes too late that he probably should have brought a tunic with him. He’s going to get more freckles by walking around with such bare skin in the sun. It’s not fair that he already has more freckles than both his parents combined, and Sam has _none_. Maybe he’ll catch up in four more years. There aren’t a lot of other kids in the tribes with freckles like him, so Dean would like it if Sam was just as freckly as him when he grows up.

Maybe Dean wouldn’t have so many freckles if he wore his tunic like most of the other kids do. He usually walks around in just his loincloth or his leggings. The grown-up men of the tribe almost always go around without their tunics, and Dean wants to be just like them. He’s not a child (like Sam) anymore, and he doesn’t like wearing the long tunics that most of the other children are always wearing – especially the girls.

But... He doesn’t want more freckles. They’re not that far from the village; Dean can see the walkways spanning between the massive trees from here. Maybe he should go back and get something? Ugh, but that would mean having to climb up the ladder, because no one will use the canoe-lift to bring up _one_ child.

The trees of the forest surrounding the clearing are so tall. Dean has to close his eyes and hum to himself whenever the children are brought up and down in the canoe-lift. They’re so big that it takes a lot of grown-ups to hold hands and go all the way around the tree. The biggest trees can hold more than one generation of a family.

Dean’s family is only the four of them, biggest all of his parents’ parents died before he was born. Their tree still has a couple layers carved out from generations before them. There are handholds cut into the inside of the tree to climb up and down between the levels. But there’s only the main level that has a walkway built around it.

Sometimes, instead of carving out a new level, younger grown-ups will build a platform into the branches of the tree, stringing up hides and pelts sewn together into waterproof tents. They live there until they start families of their own and either start building their own family tree, or move back in with their parents.

They’re crazy. Dean can’t understand how they would want to live in something so _unsafe_. What if the branches break? What if the wind grows strong and blows the tent down? The grown-ups probably thought of all that and did something to make sure it wouldn’t happen, but it’s _terrifying_ to him to think about living like that.

But he does envy them, a little bit. It would be exciting to have a place of his own, and not have _Äity_ or _Otehkö_ telling him what to do, or when he’s supposed to go to bed. Someday, Dean is going to be _Taafër_. He should probably have his own tree when he takes over. How early should he start carving out a tree of his own? They’ll need to build more walkways for it, and another bridge, and that makes his stomach _turn_ to think about doing.

If he had the choice, Dean would like to be a _Taafër_ who lives on the ground.

A small hand at his arm brings him out of his thoughts. Dean glances down at Sam to find him holding out a handful of small white flowers with yellow middles. They’re not onions, but _Äity_ will be happy to have them.

“That’s great, Sammy!” Dean ruffles his hair and holds up the basket. “Add ‘em, kay?”

Sam beams as bright as the sunlight around them and throws the flowers down on top of the berries and mushrooms. He turns around to root around in the grass again, and Dean kneels again to finish gathering the mushrooms. They don’t get much done before the sound of a horn echoes through the clearing, coming from the village. It warbles once, twice, and then a shorter third time.

_Vingkäitä._

Dean’s heart almost stops in his chest. He drops the basket and stands up sharply, already looking at the skies. The horn is only sounded when there’s danger, and the only danger Dean can think of right now would be the _Vingkäitä._ But, _Otehkö_ gave the okay. He said the shadow was far away on the edge of the horizon. They aren't close enough to be a threat this late in their season. The village should be safe now.

They should be... _running_.

Grown-ups are already sprinting away from the river. They’ve dropped everything and have scooped up the nearest children, carrying them towards the treeline where they’ll be the safest. Dean and Sam are too far from the path from the village to the river, worn down by years of the tribe walking back and forth. They’re almost at a halfway point between the trees and the river, but still too far from everything to be considered safe.

 _Äity_ is standing in the middle of the path, turning back and forth in panicked, jerky movements. Dean knows she’s looking for them. She was too busy to pay attention to where they went, and now they’re too far from her. Dean can carry Sam, but he can’t run with him, and Sam’s legs are too short to keep up. He’s a terrible runner, too, all wobbly and falling down. Uncoordinated, _Otehkö_ said.

Dean cups his hands around his mouth and shouts. “Run, _Äity_! _Run_!”

She spins around and looks at him, and there’s fear on her face. Her mouth opens, but Dean can’t hear her over a growing whine that fills the air. He’s never heard it before, but he’s been told about how the sound always comes when the _Vingkäitä_ are nearby. _Äity_ lurches towards them, but she’s so far away. Dean looks around for anything, any way to hide.

The empty log is half collapsed, but there’s space at one end. Space enough for Sammy. Dean grabs him by the shoulders and shoves him inside. The bark is rough and it scrapes Sam’s skin. He cries harder, tries fighting, but Dean hushes him and pushes him in further. Next is the basket. There’s not enough room for him, he’s too big, but Dean squishes the woven basket in after Sam to help hide him more.

Now he needs to hide too, but he can’t be near Sam. If Dean hides too close to him, they might be able to find him too, and that’s not allowed. Dean needs to protect him, by getting away from him. _Äity_ too. She’s still coming towards them, and Dean wishes she would go for the trees. With her long legs, she could get to them long before he could. Long before the _Vingkäitä_ get here.

His sound of his heart is pounding in his ears and the whine in the air is almost deafening now. Through it all, Dean catches the gurgle of the river, and it’s suddenly the best idea he’s ever had. He can swim. Heck, he’s a _great_ swimmer. The river is slow and Dean has bathed and swam in it many times. As far as he knows, the _Vingkäitä_ can’t swim. Probably. No one has ever seen them in the water. Have they ever even landed before? All the paintings and drawings Dean has seen of them have been in the air.

The sky.

 _Flying_.

He glances up as a shadow passes over him, and then another. Two shapes soar over the clearing, both with four wings spread wide and hiding the sun and the cloud. Something else is flying underneath them; shiny, round, and making the air shimmer behind it. The thing has arms hanging from it, long and thin, and ending in two pinching claws.

Dean is rooted to the spot. Terrified. He can’t move. His body feels so far away and everything has gone quiet around him. All he can do is stare as the _Vingkäitä_ and their weird flying thing turn and circle back around the clearing.

Sound comes crashing back all at once; Sammy crying, the river babbling, _Äity_ screaming.

With a gasp, Dean turns on his heel and runs for the river, crashing through bush and grass. Thorns and branches sting at his skin, but he can’t stop. He’s almost there. The river is _right ther_ e. Just a little bit further and he can dive into the shallows and swim out to where the _Vingkäitä_ won’t be able to reach him. But Dean doesn’t really know if he’ll be safe there. All he has is hope.

They won’t get Sam. He’s sure of that. But _Äity_ is still in danger. Dean prays that she’ll be safe. Her totem, the _pädder_ , with its woolly body and curled horns, is just like her; determined and curious and _smart_. If she can’t get through this, no one can. She probably went for the trees, or maybe even made for the river like him now that Sam is hidden and safe.

 _Please let Sam be safe_. _Please let Äity be safe_.

The whining hum gets loud and a wind whips up around him. Dean can taste his heart in his throat and he pushes himself harder. The river is there. It’s _right there_. So close. So close. _So close_.

A sharp pain stung him in the middle of his back, like the bite of an insect. Almost immediately, Dean feels tired. His run becomes a stagger and he sways on his feet towards the river. He’s so close. He just needs to get there. Then he’s safe. Sam is safe. _Äity_ is safe. So safe.

No.

So sleepy.

Why is he so sleepy? He’s not supposed to be sleepy. He’s supposed to be… Be what?

Why is he running?

Dean stumbles and tilts forward. He’s going to fall first into a bush, but then he doesn’t. There’s a pressure around his shoulders and under his arms, and he feels so weightless. The ground is getting farther and farther away from him, and, for the first time in forever, Dean isn’t afraid of the height. He’s not afraid of falling, or of the loud whine right above his head.

 _Äity_ is calling for him, but Dean can’t answer.

He’s just too sleepy.

So… sleepy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Collaboration with and [concept art by jdragon122](https://jdragon122.tumblr.com/post/641226657048461312/here-it-is-folks-castiel-and-deans-design-for) | [fanart](https://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/hz%20art) | [Tumblr fic tag](https://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/fic%3A-human-zoo) | [Vocabulary](https://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/641578566441664512/vocabulary-for-the-human-zoo-this-will-be) | Specimen Designations

A repetitive beeping draws Castiel’s attention away from his lesson on the skeletal and muscular anatomy of the _Homosapien_ species. His talons flex in his perch and he glances away from the screen of his desk to look at the PADD resting on the counter in the kitchen on the other side of the living space. His mother left it there last night, though she really should have taken it to her private roost.

With his chin propped in his hand and an elbow on one of his knees, Castiel is quite comfortable. He includes this as a factor while he weighs the pros and cons of getting up to answer whatever notice Mother is receiving himself, or if he should notify her instead.

Once he comes to a decision, he taps the screen to pause his lesson. It takes little concentration to find his mother’s _sha’ra_ and reach out to her. _(Naomi, someone is attempting to contact you.)_

Moments after touching her thoughts with his, Castiel hears the click of talons on the floor long before his mother comes through the doorway that leads to their personal roosts and the refresher they share. Mother is wearing only white linen wrapped between her legs and hanging over her hips in folds. Her breasts are bare and her dark hair is tied up in a loose bun, feathered strands falling free and hanging around her face. She must have woken up fairly recently.

 _(Are you already working on your lessons for the day?)_ Mother raises an eyebrow at him as she picks up her PADD. _(You will complete them ahead of your age group if you continue at this rate.)_

He nods and looks down at his own PADD, covered in the notes he had been taking during the lesson. _(I wish to begin contributing to our society as soon as I am able.)_ Though it will still be at least a few more years of lessons and the approval of his thesis before that will be a possibility, no matter how efficient Castiel is with his learning.

It is not common for feelings to be shared between _sha’ra_ with one’s thoughts, but Castiel is surprised to feel pride edging his mother’s next touch. _(Am I correct to assume that you have already decided what it is that you wish to do?)_

Heat begins to suffuse Castiel’s cheeks at the attention. He refuses to look up and instead draws the point of his nail over the screen that makes up the majority of his desk, tracing the femur of the skeleton of a female _homo sapien_. Castiel is continuously impressed by just how much of their genetics the _Aetherians_ owe to this particular species.

 _(Yes, Naomi.)_ He finally looks up with a close-lipped smile, because to bare one’s teeth in their culture is an act of aggression. _(I look forward to accompanying you to work one day. Not as your son, but as your colleague.)_

She returns the smile with a nod. _(As do I.)_

Mother turns away and taps at the PADD, silencing the trill of the incoming message. Castiel knows it must be flagged as important, otherwise it would have only beeped a few times and then fallen silent. He is about to return to his lessons when his mother’s upper wings nearly double in size and her lower wings spread out in surprise. When he reaches out to touch her _sha’ra_ , it’s to find her thoughts trembling with excitement.

Curious, Castiel sits up straighter, though still with his knees almost pressed to his chest. It must be related to her work. _(Good news?)_

 _( **Very**!) _Mother drops her PADD on the counter again and rushes from the room. _(We finally have a new addition! The last acquisition team for this sector was successful.)_ The whining hum of the sonics powering up in the refresher starts to echo down the hall. _(Would you like to come with me and observe the intake process in person?)_

This is quite the opportunity, and Castiel would be a fool to pass on it. _(Of course. Thank you for the opportunity, Naomi.)_

Her approval tickles briefly from _sha’ra_ to _sha’ra_ , and it makes Castiel’s halo tingle. He reaches up to touch it, the sharp points of his nails raking against the hard keratin without making a scratch. It will take more than that to damage it.

Smothering a yawn under his other hand, Castiel stands up on his perch and stretches. He spreads all four wings out as he angles his arms above his head, craning his neck from side to side. It will be a few years yet before he will be close to touching the ceiling. Their species can reach nearly two-hundred-and-forty-four centimeters in height. His mother stands just barely over two-hundred-and-thirty-one centimeters. Castiel will likely be taller, given how he was designed as such.

The shade has been closed on the window since they retired to their roosts last night. According to the chrono-meter at the top of the screen of his desk, it is early morning. The sun should have risen a few hours ago, but Castiel was too absorbed in his lessons to think of opening the window.

He steps off the spongy tube of his perch and spreads his talons on the floor, clicking them one at a time in a stretch. The dial next to the round window controls how open the iris shade is. With a flick of his wrist, he spins it fully and the iris draws away from the center of the window with a slow whirr, folding into the edges until the floor-to-ceiling circular is clear. The edge of the sun peeks around the side of the circular residential building opposite theirs, flooding the living space with light.

Castiel closes his eyes briefly against the sun, welcoming what little warmth it gives through the quartz glass. The sudden silence as the sonics in the refresher cuts off brings him back to reality. He shakes himself out and turns, bypassing the kitchen to head down the hall to his roost. The door opens in the same iris fashion of the window as he approaches, and slips shut behind him as the lights come on automatically.

Currently, he wears nothing but a split skirt over his underclothing. That would be inappropriate to wear to his mother’s place of work. They will be heading to the zoological research section of the collection facility, and possibly into the public section of the facility where individuals not involved in studying the specimens from the planet’s surface are still able to view them.

A simple touch to a panel on the wall opens his wardrobe, and it slides out into the center of the room from next to the panel. Bolts of cloth and the belts that hold them hang evenly from the spaced rungs along its length, along with his shirts and pants. Beneath them hang baskets that hold his underclothes, a few of his personal treasures, and various jewelry pieces that he has been gifted throughout the course of his lifetime.

He ignores those for today. Jewelry and baubles have no place in the research facility. Instead, he reaches for a rarely worn pair of pants. Mother has made it very clear that anyone entering the research facility should wear them. The usual draping fabrics of the robes and skirts that the majority of Aetherians wear leaves too much to be grabbed and pulled by the specimens they work with. Granted, Castiel is fairly certain that the researchers don’t interact with them on a daily basis. It is, however, still good practice.

The cuffs of the pants are wide and loose so as not to ruffle the feathers that start just above his ankles and cover the arch of his feet. His thin, pointed talons emerge from under the feathers, much like those of [_bubo scandiacus_](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Snowy_owl); three talons in the front and one in the back. Castiel differs from his mother in that aspect. From the ankle down, her skin is rough and yellowed, and her feet end in three toed raptorial talons, with one extra toe and talon at the end. She resembles [_buteo jamaicensis_](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Red-tailed_hawk) in that and the shape and colour with both sets of her wings.

Castiel curls his talons under his feet to keep them from snagging in the fabric. With more care than likely needed, he puts his feet through each leg and stretches his talons against the floor once done. The pants have loops through which he feeds a belt to cinch it in place around his waist. To that, he clips a pouch on either hip. One is specifically designed to hold his PADD. The other he uses to store a handful of data-chips, and a few extra styluses just in case he loses the one attached to his PADD or it breaks.

His roost is composed of the same spongy material as the perch at his desk. Though it looks much the same, the roost has a second bar, though flatter, of adjustable height offset from the one he crouches on throughout the night. It is adjustable so that he can move it as he grows, giving him a place to cross his arms and lean his chest while sleeping.

Taking two strips of cloth from his wardrobe, Castiel props first his foot against the bottom rung of his roost. One end of the cloth has a hook in it that attaches to a corresponding loop on the outside end of the cuff of his pants. He latches them together and starts the somewhat tedious process of wrapping around his calf and down to where the downy feathers start at his ankle. The other end of the cloth strip has a rough patch that adheres to other fabric. With a firm press, it holds to binding and won’t come loose until peeled apart.

After repeating the process with his other leg, Castiel does a few squats and stretches to ensure that they are loose enough to allow for movement. Satisfied, he fetches a shirt from his wardrobe. It is the last of the clothing he will need, and a gentle tap to the panel sends it back into the wall. His shirt is mostly made of a bolt of fabric to cover his chest and sides. It has ties that he will have to connect both under and above his lower set of wings. A metal band with a hinge at its center clasps around his neck and holds the collar in place.

Now fully dressed, Castiel tucks the hem into the waistband of his pants and checks his reflection in a mirror hanging next to the panel on the wall. His hair was combed and styled after he used the refresher when he woke. It has dried fully now, and it gets a little fluffy around the base of his halo where it grows up and back from the tops of his temples. The feathers of his ears are soft and downy, and he combs his fingers through them to fix a few that got out of place during his studying.

As for his wings, the iridescent feathers are still glossy from his monthly preening session with his mother from several days ago. They are still partially composed of down, but are thankfully strong enough for flight. In shadow, his feathers look almost black, but they shine with yellows, greens, purples, and subtle shades of colour in the light. Castiel is, perhaps, a little vain about his wings. The colour is most appealing to him, and he is grateful that his mother requested this particular colouring when she opted to have a child.

By the time Castiel steps from his roost room, his mother is already in the kitchen. Her clothing is very similar to his own, though her shirt is built with support for her breasts. Aside from a few feathered strands framing the bases of her halo, the rest of her hair is tied up in a neat, tight bun. She looks up at him, eyebrow raised. The core of an apple is in hand and she throws it into the freestanding recycler at the end of the counter.

 _(Are you ready, Castiel?)_ Mother twists at the waist and does a few squats of her own.

He nods and heads for the door. _(I am.)_ His breakfast was a while ago, but he will not be hungry for several hours yet.

For all their size, Aetherians do not require as many calories as the creatures whose genetics they have borrowed. They have very efficient systems and complete control over their minds and bodies. With some concentration, Castiel is capable of slowing his metabolism even further. He also requires less sleep than _homo sapiens_ , the dominant species of the planet below.

As such, Castiel should not require another meal until they return to their residence. If it is at all necessary for him to eat prior to that, there are cafeterias at the research lab where he could easily obtain something to satisfy him.

There is a panel next to the circular iris door that opens it with a single touch. The weather report that came to his PADD this morning indicates that it will be a warm, sunny day – which is quite normal for this time of the sol cycle. Already he can smell the sunshine and feel the wind that races through the floating city.

With his mother close behind, Castiel steps out onto the spongy surface of their landing pad. It is covered in the pockmarks left behind by their talons. It has to be a springy material to absorb their impact when they land. Castiel digs his talons in and tucks all four wings close to his back as he gets buffeted by the wind. Their residence is fairly high up in the tower, and the winds are stronger out here.

The door slides shut behind them and locks itself once the sensors have confirmed no one else remains inside. It will unlock upon their return, acknowledging the weight of someone on the landing pad and recognizing them by the identity chips implanted in their wrists at birth.

Mother nods at him and Castiel barely refrains from grinning. A smile should be close mouthed and remain primarily in the eyes. Most of the species on this planet bare their teeth only in aggression. There are some who do not, _homo sapiens_ for example, but the Aetherians did not adopt aspects of their culture, merely aspects of their genetics.

Facing into the wind, Castiel closes his eyes and spreads all four of his wings at the same moment that he unclenches his talons. The gusts are strong enough to fill his wings and lift him from the platform, sending him tumbling backwards and into the open air. He opens his eyes again, blinking rapidly to avoid the tears the winds bring to them. It drags at his ears and he folds them closer to the sides of his head, protecting the delicate feathers even as they catch the sounds of the city for him.

This is one of his favourite things about flying. At his age, he should be past this childish delight, and yet this is not something he can help. Their floating cities are not what make Aetherians great. It is their _wings_ that puts them above the creatures of this planet.

He plummets past the platforms that mark the homes of the other residents within the building. Some are stepping out to head off to work themselves, and others are dormant and silent, perhaps having worked overnight or do not start their jobs until later. He is rapidly nearing the base of the tower and the city floor, and warning tingles through his _sha’ra_ from his mother.

With a sigh that is ripped from his lips, Castiel folds his wings in and flips over. He snaps them out again and glides out of his fall, tilting to one side to angle around the curved edge of the building. Mother soars well above him. Castiel does not know if she likes flying as much as him, and he will never ask her because his mother is _above_ such things. Hopefully he will never lose his exuberance for flight.

The residential district of _Ra’haya_ , the primary city of his people, contains a total of twenty-four cylindrical towers. There are two hundred units per building, and they house all five thousand citizens. The towers are clustered in a semi-circle around the edge of a massive domed terrarium containing various vegetation and creatures from their home world; _Atun’eal_. This terrarium and the ones that match it on the secondary and tertiary cities are all that remains of their original planet.

None of the Aetherians currently alive have actually seen their home world. It is long gone and, last they were there, rapidly becoming uninhabitable. That was several generations ago; hundreds upon hundreds of sol cycles. Their home world was ancient and diseased; _dying_. More than half their people died with it, and those who were immune to the ravaging built three cities, gathered what healthy plants and animals they could to preserve them, and left.

This was the first planet they found that had a habitable atmosphere. Since life was already thriving here, and Aetherians are a particularly scientific species, they chose to stay and study it. After naming it _Har’adid_ , they have spent their time studying everything about it, gathering samples to analyze and add to their collections. This ranges from creatures, to plant life, to geology, and the weather.

Occasionally, during their studies, they found a particularly fascinating trait in the creatures that they found beneficial to survival, and adopted it into their own genetic code. As such, Aetherians look almost nothing like they did when they arrived. All that remains of their original forms are their halos. Without them, they would not be able to communicate telepathically, as is the way with their species.

While Aetherians _are_ capable of vocal speech, and they do have a spoken language, it is actually frowned upon to use one’s mouth to speak. Many find it disgusting to use their mouth for anything other than eating, and even that is done in relative privacy or with eyes averted when in company. Children are taught this at a young age, thus why _homo sapiens_ , with their verbal language, their laughter and their smiles, are…

Now this is something Castiel takes issue with. His lessons are succinct and to the point. They contain only facts uncovered through the extensive studies his people have done on other species, but the forums on which he can discuss his lessons with others of his age group are cluttered with opinions. And none of them are good. _Homo sapiens_ live in the mud and they speak with dirty mouths. Aetherians are, at their core, a rather haughty race. Even with _homo sapiens_ displaying all the marks of a burgeoning civilization, the vast majority of Castiel’s people seem to think that they are nothing more than another animal to observe.

He is already starting to disagree with those opinions, but he cannot mention his own feelings. Castiel remains silent on those discussions, and only speaks of _fact_ when prompted. There is a very small collective of their people who sympathize with the _homo sapiens_ , but they are looked down upon and mocked relentlessly for their views. His mother is one such person who speaks of them with disdain, and he does not wish to bring that upon himself.

 _(Pay attention, Castiel.)_ Mother admonishes him as he drifts in thought around the edge of the building next to theirs. It lengthens the trip to the biology division of the research sector, but it is hard to resist the urge to weave between the towers. _(The specimen will arrive shortly. We must make haste.)_

Castiel chastises himself and quickly corrects course, beating his lower wings to add speed and catch up to where his mother is circling tightly above the terrarium. Once he is beneath her, she breaks out of her pattern and begins the short flight across the city. Since he fell so far, Castiel actually has to skim along the side of the terrarium as he beats his wings to help him climb higher.

 _Ra’haya_ is a circular city, with a diameter of twenty kilometers. At least a quarter of the city proper is taken up by the residential district and the terrarium. The building housing their government and the offices that keep the city functioning are separated from the towers by the terrarium. They intersect, somewhat, with the dome of the government building pressing into the terrarium. Inside, that wall is entirely glass, giving the workers a full view of the terrarium. Castiel has seen it once, and it is fairly nice.

Below and between the buildings is water. The entire city rises out of a lake, though it is only a meter deep. Mother says it is purely for aesthetic purposes. The water runs through filters at the edges of the city that keep it from stagnating and growing algae, and it is not at all connected to the tanks in the underbelly of the city from which their drinking water comes from.

All processing plants are kept beneath the surface of the city, and Castiel is excited for the lessons that will require a guided tour through them. He should be coming up to those shortly, and then mother will arrange for him to shadow an employee for that division for a day. It will be very interesting to learn further about the function of their city, though he knows it will not be enough to draw him from his goal to work with his mother in the zoology division of the science sector.

Beyond the government building, a waterfall rises up from the lake. It is not very large, and again purely aesthetic, but the science district of the city lies above it and spreads to the far edge. The majority of their city is devoted to this district. It is composed of domed buildings grouped by their branches of science and connected with covered walkways.

One building has been devoted to the arts, both visual and musical. His people do not sing, but they have many instruments that produce quite lovely sounds. They make paintings, and pottery, carve statues from stone, and reliefs in wood. Those that feel an artistic calling, or need to give their minds a break, flock there to try their hand at _creation_.

Castiel made a bowl there once, and it sits on their kitchen counter where his mother puts the fruit they have delivered or replicated. It was quite fun and he would be interested in doing it again, or perhaps to learn how to whittle like the _homo sapiens_ do.

Biology, thus far, is the biggest building of them all. It has six domes connected to it, but today they head for just one; the zoology division. That is where the zoo is housed. Internally, it is divided into similar sectors as they have divided this world, and the creatures they gather from the planet’s surface are organized as such.

The zoo is open to visitors, but the rest of the building is closed off to the public. Though he is technically still _public_ until his dissertation is complete and he has been assigned a position without the zoological department, Castiel is granted access to the restricted areas when he accompanies his mother. He wonders if any other children will be present for this event. It is not every day that a new _homo sapien_ specimen is brought in.

They soar over the massive dome of the biology building and bank towards the zoology division. Though its diameter is large, the building itself is short. Like the terrarium, it is composed primarily of quartz glass so as to give the inhabitants the illusion of being outdoors while in their specially designed enclosures. The very top of the dome is partially concave, dipping into a well that continues straight through to the bottom of the building.

With his mother in the lead, Castiel tilts his wings and begins to circle after her, descending into the well. As they spiral down through the opening, they can see the different enclosures that span out from the center. Glass walkways extend above them all.

The landing pad at the bottom is made of the same spongy material as the platform outside their home. It absorbs the impact of their landing. One of Mother’s coworkers, also dressed in the same crisp white pants and shirt, is waiting. He hands her a data chip the moment she approaches, and she plugs that into her PADD.

Castiel already has his stylus and PADD in hand, ready to take notes. His halo tingles at the other conversations around them and he concentrates to listen only to the one between his mother and her co-worker. Generally, eavesdropping is frowned upon, but exceptions are made for students like him. Especially students who are already interested in working in this field. It is very important that he collect all that can whenever he is allowed to be here.

At the moment, they are in the process of discussing the proposed age and overall visual health of the newest addition to the collection. Castiel scribbles it down quickly on his PADD; young male, approximately six to nine sol cycles of age. An exact age will be determined once they can look at his teeth. Appears to be in good health.

Emotions should be kept from the _sha’ra_ , but both of the adults currently present are practically trembling with excitement. The search teams have been patrolling this sector for the last eighty-six days in an attempt to find a specific specimen. The zoological department wishes to facilitate breeding between specimen F-3 with a male of approximately the same age. Eventually, of course. _Homo sapiens_ do not reach sexual maturity for many cycles.

After many studies, it has been determined that _homo sapiens_ prefer mating amongst the same age groups. All the male specimens they have for this sector are fully grown adults, and they are many sol cycles older than F-3, who was born six sol cycles ago in their facility. It was the first time they had collected a pregnant female, though not the first birth they have handled here.

Though they have observed four different tribes in this sector, the specimens they have collected and put together in the zoo have come together to form a unique tribe with traits from all four. The same can be said for the tribes from other sectors. It has been most fascinating to see them interact. Only once were there tensions between specimens and had to be separated occasionally, but they quickly overcame them in the face of captivity together.

And there is a distinct difference in the traits between the specimens they collect from the planet’s surface and those that are born here. F-3 and F-4 are not afraid of differences in their surroundings. They do not fight when it is time for the annual check-up, and they show no fear in the face of the Aetherians. Collected specimens are hesitant around them, they show degrees of wariness and normally need to be tranquilized for check-ups.

Of course the tribe has assigned actual _names_ to F-3 and F-4, but Castiel has made it a point not to learn any of the recorded names for the specimens in their care. He needs to keep himself separated. If he refers to them by their designations, then he does not feel… _bad_ … that _homo sapiens_ have a civilization. They have a language, and use tools. They make clothing and have _trade_ between their tribes. They are a _people_. Despite wanting to study them, Castiel is worried that he may not be able to treat them like any other animal in their collection.

Castiel shakes himself out and refocuses on the information that his mother is reading from her PADD. She shares it with him through their _sha’ra_. The new specimen will be designated 1-M-7; the seventh male specimen from Alpha Sector (or, colloquially, Sector One). Age to be determined by analysis of his teeth. As of yet, 1-M-7 has not had a negative reaction to the tranquilizer, thankfully. He is from Tribe Site C in the jungle trees.

That bit of information is truly exciting and even Castiel cannot contain himself, his feathers spreading to fluff his wings. This is the first specimen from Site C that they have ever had. They have had information transmitted to them from their sister cities, _Ta’thani_ and _Ba’thali_ , regarding their specimens from Alpha Sector Site C. But second-hand information is not the same as learning it themselves, let alone that this is a _child_ specimen.

It will be very interesting to see how a child will integrate into the community that has formed within the Alpha Sector enclosure. They currently have a mix of members from Tribe A (located in the mountainous region of this sector), Tribe B (located on the edge of the sea), and Tribe D (located on the plains). As they have been observed to have connections between the same tribes within a sector, it was long since decided not to mix specimens from different sectors.

This appeals greatly to Castiel’s scientific mind. He has already learned quite a bit about the major differences in the way of life for tribes of the different sectors. Since they wish to avoid conflict and the unnecessary loss of life that would undoubtedly come from mixing tries of different sectors, it made the most sense to keep them separate. Though Castiel would be interested to see what would happen if they _did_ mix them.

It is best that they do not do that, though. _Homo sapiens_ seem to have a tendency towards violence when faced with the unknown. Castiel’s lessons have already gone over the observed aggressions between some tribes. As interesting as the psychology behind it all, the facility prefers to avoid bloodshed and will simply continue to observe the interactions between the planet-side tribes from afar for the time being.

Everything that Castiel scribbles on his PADD is automatically translated into a typed document. It is much more legible than his quick scrawl. His mother starts walking alongside her co-worker, and Castiel follows blindly as he focuses on taking his notes. One day, he will have to be doing this while making observations of his own and he must be fast. Yes, everything that happens is recorded, but it still is best to get first impressions down.

Mother comes to a stop so suddenly that Castiel nearly walks into her wing. He looks up to find that they are in a nondescript hall now, standing in front of a section of the wall with a square etched into it. There is a panel next to it and he watches as her co-worker taps it lightly. The etched section shimmers briefly before turning transparent.

 _(Come forward, Castiel.)_ Naomi turns and gestures for him to move closer to the window. _(You will have a better view from here.)_

 _(Thank you, Naomi.)_ He nods at her and takes his place in front of her.

More of her co-workers are crowding in around them, and a half-dozen adults are now pressing in to watch the initial review of their latest specimen. Castiel is barely tall enough to see in and he stretches up as tall as he can to watch.

The only object in the room is a raised table at its center. Their newest specimen lies on it, and Castiel’s breath catches in his throat. He leans forward with wide eyes, almost pressing his nose to the glass as he tries to take it all in. With the many times that he has come to the zoo, and through his lessons too, Castiel has seen every specimen they have. But this is still the first that he has had the opportunity to see a _new_ one in person.

1-M-7 is smaller than him, though not by much. Castiel has been alive for ten sol cycles and he will be taller than his mother when he is fully grown. Aetherians are roughly the same size as _homo sapiens_ until puberty, in which Aetherians begin to outpace them as they grow to their adult size. The tallest _homo sapien_ they have ever collected was just barely over two-hundred-and-thirteen centimeters.

Mother’s PADD enters his field of vision and Castiel turns his head to review the data flickering across it. He memorizes it quickly before adding height and weight to his own notes. 1-M-7 is one-hundred-twenty-three point three centimeters, and a healthy weight for his age and height at twenty-three kilograms. Most impressive.

In full view of Castiel, Mother taps at something on her PADD and the window in front of them suddenly shifts. A rectangle forms around the table and specimen 1-M-7, and the image quickly fills the whole window to give them a much closer look. He is lying on his back; dark eyelashes fan against tanned checks speckled with freckles. Castiel is envious, for he has often wished that his mother had requested he have freckles when he was being designed.

There is a curious lack of upper body clothing, and Castiel wonders if it is due to the warmer weather of the area. Tribe Site C is located in a jungle. Maybe it is more common for males of this tribe, not matter the age, no to wear upper body clothing. 1-M-7 must have been very warm, because he only wears a loincloth on his lower half; a strip of animal hide running between his legs and hooked over a strip of leather around his waist before hanging down in front and behind him.

His feet are bare and fairly dirty. He will be given a good washing before he can be allowed into the enclosed environment of his new home. Castiel has yet to have the opportunity to view a full cleansing and he looks forward to being able to take notes of his own accord.

Aside from a slight bowing of the legs, the skeletal scan already taken before they arrived has identified no physical deformities. In all aspects, 1-M-7 is an _excellent_ specimen. He is quite healthy and will make for an excellent mate for F-3, if they can facilitate a relationship between them.

 _(We are prepared to continue with a more thorough evaluation.)_ Mother’s coworker taps his own PADD and the window returns to normal. _(Shall we?)_

Mother nods. _(Let us proceed.)_ She removes her PADD from Castiel’s view, but her free hand pats his head lightly. _(Pay attention, Castiel.)_

 _(Yes, Naomi.)_ He nods, PADD and stylus at the ready.

A door opens in the side of the room, iris unfurling to allow someone to step through. It closes just as quickly behind them. Castiel’s wings shiver and shift against his back. He has seen pictures and read about the protective gear that is worn around a specimen before it is cleansed, but it is an entirely different matter to see it in person.

The suit covers them entirely, wings and halo included. Castiel cannot begin to imagine how uncomfortable it must be to have one’s wings encased in a layer of rubber. The hood of the suit covers their halo, and even though Castiel _knows_ the silhouette of an Aetherian, he still thinks it looks deformed in some way. A sheet of plastic covers the face, and a filter over the mouth allows the wearer to breathe.

Castiel vaguely recognizes the woman, though he cannot quite place her name just yet. He is more interested in paying attention to how she approaches the _home sapien_ child. A part of the wall next to the door folds into the floor and a table filled with machines slides forwards. From the table, she picks up a needle and vial. Castiel tries not to squirm in place as she moves to draw a sample of blood from 1-M-7’s arm.

Once the vial is full, she places it in one of the machines where it will be analyzed down to the last platelet to ensure that 1-M-7 has no diseases. As the machine whirs to life, lights flickering here and there, the Aetherian returns to 1-M-7’s side, standing on the far side of the table so as not to obscure the view for everyone at the window.

It zooms in once again, as she uses her fingers to check the specimen’s teeth. Another camera view from above opens in a side-by-side picture. They look alright to Castiel, but the Aetherian shakes her head and makes a gesture with her hand. A portion of the ceiling slides out of the way and more machines descend from above.

One such device has a long hose, and Castiel recognizes it for what it is. He hates going to the dentist to have his teeth cleaned, and that is _exactly_ what is about to happen. His stomach goes tight and uncomfortable as she starts to clean 1-M-7’s teeth, running the device over each and every tooth and along his gums. Once she is satisfied, she hangs the tool back where it belongs.

She pulls down a different one with a mold generally resembling the shape of the inside of the _homo sapien_ mouth. They do not have the same pointed four canines that Aetherians do, so it is slightly different to accommodate their flatter teeth. The device is placed inside 1-M-7’s mouth and begins the scan and analysis of his teeth.

While the machine works, the Aetherian moves onto his clothing. The simple cured hide is functional, but not visually or aesthetically pleasing. The fabric synthesized for the specimens in the enclosure are far fancier. Since they have no need to hunt for food, they spend much of their time using the fabric, beads, and stones provided to them to make decorated clothing and tents. It is fascinating the differences between what they have created themselves compared to what they were brought in with.

The Aetherian in the room removes 1-M-7’s clothing and dumps them into a recycler attached to the table of machines against the wall. Its matter will be broken down into the core recycler in the underbelly of the ship and re-used through the replicators to make whatever is inputted. As long as the sequence has been programmed in, a replicator can make any food or material requested of it. Castiel has not gotten to the point of his lessons that will dissect the reclamation technology and science, but he looks forward to it.

A scanner extends from the mess of machines from the ceiling and Castiel watches, enraptured, as a wide beam scans 1-M-& from the crown of his head to the tip of his toes. Several areas on his arms and chest, and even on his face, are left highlighted. The magnified image on the window shows them to be a number of dermal abrasions. They appear fresh and must have been received during his collection.

Castiel watches as the Aetherian uses a dermal regenerator to erase the abrasions, leaving behind smooth, freckled skin. By that point, the scan of his teeth has been completed and she removes the device, letting it recoil back into the ceiling. The results display on the window and Castiel is pleased to find that their estimations were more or less correct. 1-M-7 is aged seven sol cycles, and his teeth are in excellent condition. His tribe must have some kind of care routine for them.

Castiel is not much older than the _homo sapien_ child on the other side of the glass. That pricks uncomfortably at his insides and he focuses briefly on suppressing the feeling until it can no longer be felt. It should not matter to him that he is only a few sol cycles older than 1-M-7. The difference cannot be compared, as Castiel will mature much quicker. He will be considered an adult in Aetherian society by the time 1-M-7 reaches puberty, and will be nearly his full height by then.

But that is how silly _homo sapien_ evolution is. Their children stay so small for so long. It is a wonder that they have managed to survive for this long, or to have spread and evolved as much as they have. It is no less than _amazing_ , actually, and it is no surprise that Castiel is utterly fascinated by the species.

Now it is time to bathe the specimen to ensure that no mites (such as [_pediculus humanus capitis_](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Head_louse) or anything from the order [_siphonaptera_](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flea)) are introduced to the enclosure. Castiel arches up on the balls of his feet as high as he can to get a better view. The angle is not very good, but it is better than not being here at all.

1-M-7 gets scrubbed from head to toe with clinical precision using a disinfecting soap and a cloth. His hair is washed with an anti-bacterial solution. In the midst of being washed off, Castiel notes a change in the room and promptly locates his mother’s _sha-ra_.

 _(Naomi.)_ He spreads one of his wings back to bump against her front. _(I believe 1-M-7 is waking up. His fingers are twitching.)_

After a moment of observation for herself, approval tingles across his halo. _(Good catch, Castiel.)_

The muted tap of her fingers against the PADD follow her thoughts, and a message appears on an opaque screen on the wall above the machines. A notification noise must sound in the room, though Castiel cannot hear it, because the Aetherian lifts her head to read it. She immediately abandons washing the solution out of 1-M-7’s hair to grab a tranquilizer from a rack of them on the counter.

With one quick injection, the twitching stops again.

Once the washing is done, the Aetherian uses a blow dryer and a towel. That two ends up in the recycler when finished. Castiel has documented the whole process down to the last detail, and has made notes to ask which machines were used, and what all the others in the room are for. Which ones are used should the specimen be in poor health? Or disabled? Or worse… _dying_?

New clothing is folded neatly on the table, and Castiel wonders when they replicated. The Aetherian dresses 1-M-7 in a loincloth, leggings, and tunic made of a soft fabric replicated to be like the wool fibers used by a tribe from Gamma Sector with a thriving agriculture. It will be much better to move in, and easier to wash.

The Aetherian carefully turns 1-M-7 onto his stomach and removes a pointed tool from the collection hanging from the ceiling. She tugs the collar of the tunic down away from his neck and presses the tip of the device to his skin. It moves back and forth, but her hand and the tool itself block the view to see what is truly happening. He has a feeling he knows what she is doing, but he would like a confirmation rather than to simply assume.

 _(Naomi?)_ Castiel glances back at her over his shoulder. _(What is she doing?)_

_(Marking the specimen with his designation.)_

Mother waits until the process is done before manipulating the window’s controls to show the lines and swirling loops of their written language tattooed neatly onto the back of his neck. Castiel feels foolish for having asked. He knew this, and yet it had not occurred to him that was what was happening. This was the first he has ever seen someone tattooed. The practice is not wide spread amongst Aetherians, and he has only seen a handful of adults with images and wording scrawled across their skin.

With the tattooing done, the Aetherian in the room picks 1-M-7 up and carries him through a different door than the one they first came through. Mother and her co-workers immediately start down the hall, heading in the same direction. Castiel shuffles after them, lifting his talons and nearly jogging on the balls of his feet to keep up with the adults and their long strides.

A lift takes them up to the observation level, and they step out as a group onto one of the glass bridges that spread through the entire facility about the enclosures. Avian specimens fly freely through the building, their bird song filling the air. It was found that by allowing the smaller creatures free access to the building and the various enclosures, the mental health of the _homo sapiens_ in the care of the facility improved. A touch of home, perhaps?

There is a room below where they stand on the bridge. Four simple walls with a pile of furs against one wall. The Aetherian from the preparation room enters through a door and places 1-M-7 in the pile of furs. She takes a moment to arrange him comfortably before leaving the room. It isn’t very big and Castiel is certain he would not be able to spread his wings fully in the space.

 _(What is that room for?)_ He crouches, trying to get a better look through the glass floor of the bridge.

 _(It is a transition room.)_ His mother squats next to him, her PADD held so he can continue to watch the information that spreads across it – observations and notes shared by her colleagues. _(This is where he will learn about our facility and what his life will be like. Once he has adjusted, we will release him into the rest of the enclosure with the Alpha sector tribe.)_

Castiel glances away from her PADD to look at the enclosure proper. It is separated by a wall from the room where 1-M-7 is resting. Since the enclosure is a wedge within the dome, it is wider at one end and narrows towards the center of the facility. The wide end has several rows of trees to obscure the stark white walls. Flowers are scattered throughout the grass field, long stalks waving in the simulated breeze. Vines and creeping ivy crawl up the other two walls, and the fourth at the center of the facility is covered in rocks. A waterfall spills over them and into a large pool, filling that end of the enclosure.

Several tents built with woven fabrics and wood are clustered around a stone fire pit off to one side, close to the water’s edge. It is so _primitive_ and Castiel loves coming here to see it. What these people have managed to accomplish with what limited technology they have available – tools they put together and built with their own hands, no less – is nothing short of amazing.

The current specimens within the enclosure are milling about, finding things to keep themselves entertained. A few are swimming in the pool, though Castiel can’t be sure from here if it is to bathe or not. Others are washing their clothing against the rocks lining the pool. Some are weaving on massive looms, using fiber from wool and dyed with materials given to them.

There is no hunting here, since the mammals that make it worthwhile are kept in a separate part of the facility, but fishing is still a possibility. It is absurdly easy to breed different subclasses of [_osteichthyes_](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Osteichthyes#:~:text=Osteichthyes%20\(%2F%CB%8C%C9%92st,tissue%2C%20as%20opposed%20to%20cartilage.) and release them into the pools for their entertainment and as an opportunity to prepare food for themselves. This tribe also seems to enjoy using the bones to decorate the simple fabrics they weave.

The two children in this enclosure, F-3 and F-4, are chasing each other across the field. Their wild laughter snorts of disgust from the other adults around him, but Castiel finds himself quietly envious of the freedom they have. Displays of such emotion are frowned upon, and his eidetic memory finds no time in his past when he has actually _laughed_. A smile, perhaps, but never anything like the children below. What must it be like?

To Castiel’s disappointment, the specimens within the enclosure grow hushed and stop to look up at them. His feathers fluff at the sudden attention and he is somewhat tempted to wave at them, though he knows it would be inappropriate. Mother would scold him in front of her co-workers, and that would negatively impact their views on him. Especially since he one day hopes to work with them too.

As such, as difficult as it is, he pretends not to notice them. He is still very much aware two of the three adult females rush from the camp and into the field to gather their children. They bring them back to the tents and disappear from sight. It takes a long time before the rest of the adults return to what they were doing, though the ones who were swimming climb out of the water and walk naked to their tents.

Most of them have been here for quite some time. Castiel is sure that 1-M-6 was the last specimen to be collected and added to the enclosure, and that was at least one sol cycle previous. It would have had to be the last time _Ra’haya_ was over this sector. Which should mean that they have all had a significant amount of time to get used to the Aetherians that come to watch them.

Zoologists like his mother come and go constantly, and the bridges are open to the public to come and view the specimens at their leisure. Really, the only thing that sets the researchers apart from the public are their outfits. His mother and her co-workers wear primarily white clothing, and they always wear pants in case they need to go into the enclosures for one reason or another. The majority of the public wear robed bottoms of some sort, and shirts are entirely optional.

 _(Now what do we do?)_ Castiel turns to his mother, his PADD balanced on his knees.

 _(We wait.)_ Mother’s gaze is firmly focused on her PADD, her mind processing the information in ways Castiel cannot yet begin to imagine. _(He was only administered a half dose of tranquilizer and should wake shortly. Then we can begin his integration into the tribe.)_

Her PADD is still angled for him to see and Castiel leans in, studying the differences between the notes from her colleagues. He is ready to learn anything she is willing to share before they can introduce 1-M-7 to the enclosure. It will be interesting to see how he will find his place in the existing hierarchy.

A small part of Castiel cannot help but wonder what 1-M-7’s name was before he was collected.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Collaboration with and [concept art by jdragon122](https://jdragon122.tumblr.com/post/641226657048461312/here-it-is-folks-castiel-and-deans-design-for) | [fanart](https://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/hz%20art) | [Tumblr fic tag](https://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/fic%3A-human-zoo) | [Vocabulary](https://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/641578566441664512/vocabulary-for-the-human-zoo-this-will-be) | Specimen Designations

Clouds. The clouds have come down out of the sky and settled between his ears. Dean has never felt so light and floaty in his life. The rest of him feels so far away, but his eyelids are so heavy. There’s an ache in the back of his neck that wasn’t there the last time he was awake and...

Wait.

When was the last time he was awake? Wasn’t he doing something important?

Memories come back slowly. Dean remembers mushrooms, and the river. He remembers Sammy and his _äity_. The clouds start to clear and he curls his fingers into his palm, toes flexing. There was screaming and crying. _Fear_. Why were they... The _Vingkäitä._

It takes forever to open his eyes, fighting against the weight of them. His heart is pounding in his ears and Dean expects to be on a plate in front of a _Vingkäitä_ , about to be eaten. But there’s nothing. Dean is alone, lying on his side on some of the softest furs he’s ever touched. That’s the only thing normal that he sees, because beyond the furs is white, white, white.

Slowly, because he can’t really move right and everything is stiff, he sits up. The back of his neck twinges as he looks around. It’s white everywhere; the floor, and the walls. There’s no trees, no dirt, no grass. Everything is just white, except for... There’s no ceiling. Dean looks up, and up, and up – and the back of his neck stings slightly as he does – and there’s nothing above him. The blue sky, wisps of clouds, but no breeze and he can’t see the sun.

What he _does_ see – what makes his heart stutter hard in his chest – are a cluster of _Vingkäitä_ standing in mid-air above him. No, wait. They’re standing on _something_ , but it’s clear and hard to see. The edges gleam like sparkling stone, but he’s never seen something like that before. But those are definitely _Vingkäitä_. Hard not to recognize them, what with their wings and their clawed feet and eerie circle horns.

There are five big ones, and one small one. Dean has never seen them so close. The small one is squatting, head tilted and looking down through the see-through floor. All the big ones look like they’re leaning over some kind of railing? That’s terrifying. Dean would probably pass out if the floor was invisible and he couldn’t see where his next step was going to be.

The weight of their eyes is heavy and he cringes away from it. Dean grabs the edge of the fur on the top of the pile, directly under him, and draws it around himself. He rolls to try and hide under it, but still leaves himself enough space to be able to look around again. The memory of fear makes so much sense now, but relief eases through him when Dean finally confirms that Äity and Sammy aren’t here with him. But that quickly goes away, because maybe they got taken too. Maybe they’re just not _here_ with him, but they’re somewhere else?

Dean worries at his bottom lip, his grip on the fur going white-knuckled. He hopes they’re not here, wherever here is. Obviously the _Vingkäitä_ took him… but where? Where is here? And _why_? He closes his eyes tightly and tries not to imagine everything they might do to him. Are they going to kill him? Or eat him? Or… All he hears is Charlie’s voice in his ear, low and spooky as she tells him horror stories about what the _Vingkäitä_ do with the people they take.

He shudders and the fur brushes against the back of his neck. It stings sharply and, automatically, he jerks it away so it doesn’t happen again. Dean’s other hand comes up, sliding his fingers across the side of his neck until he can feel over the area that hurts. It doesn’t feel like he’s been wounded, but it’s definitely sore. Is it just his imagination, or are there raised lines where there shouldn’t be?

With a whimper, Dean lowers his hand and wipes stinging tears from his eyes. What did the _Vingkäitä_ do to him? He burrows into the fur and wraps his arms around himself, only to stop and sit up sharply again. The fur falls from his shoulders and he plucks at the tunic he’s wearing. This isn’t his. Dean was only wearing a loincloth, wasn’t he? Now he’s wearing leggings and a tunic, and they’re definitely not his. The fabric is flexible and loose, and nothing like the hide he had before.

It’s _similar_ , though. The cut and the style are like his other clothes. They’re stitched together the same, but it’s not the same. This is a fabric made of fibers like the blankets that _Otehkö_ brings back from his trips to the other tribes. 

That’s when it hits him. He’s wearing these because the _Vingkäitä_ must have dressed him. But why?

Dean runs a hand through his hair, frustrated, and pauses mid-sniffle. Even his _hair_ feels different. It’s soft and bouncy, like he freshly bathed in the river with soap root. And what about the dirt on his hands from digging in the dirt for the mushrooms? He looks at them and frowns. There’s not a speck of dirt on them, and no spots of berry juice that always stains his fingers when he plucks and eats them.

Did… did the _vingkäitä_ … did they _bathe_ him? Dean’s bottom lip wobbles and he hugs himself tightly, whimpering quietly to himself as he starts rocking in place. He feels so violated, and not just for being stolen from his home. Why would these – these _creatures_ take him just to give him a bath and change his clothes? What else were they planning? Why is he here? _Where_ is here?

He looks up at them, and the gathered five have barely moved. Another group has showed up, just three more big ones standing off to the side. They’re all looking at him, or glancing at some weird flat things in their hands. None of them say a word – not that Dean can hear, or see. Is this all they’re going to do? Are they just going to stand there and watch him while he’s in a strange room with nothing but flat white walls and a pile of fur?

Since the _Vingkäitä_ don’t move, Dean’s curiosity starts getting the better of him. He can’t stand sitting still, half-hidden by the furs, and not _do_ something. Carefully and slowly, just in case they move when he moves, Dean slides off the fur. Some of the _Vingkäitä_ lean further over the – is it a railing? Whatever it is, they just seem to look at him _more_ now that he’s moving.

Dean glances up every so often to keep an eye on them and make sure they don’t try and get any closer to him. He explores the room slowly, running his hands along the walls and occasionally sniffling to himself. The walls are smooth to the touch, and they’re nothing like he’s ever felt before. It’s difficult to tell, but he’s almost positive that they’re not made of stone, and definitely not made of wood.

After a lap around the square room – _a square room_! – Dean has found three different indentations in the walls. There are two big half-circles on the walls on either side of the fur pile, and one smaller circle up in the wall opposite the pile. He even checked under the furs and found nothing. They’re wrong too, but not completely. Sure, they’re really soft, but they’re scentless. Even if they were freshly made, where’s the smell of the oils and pastes used to cure them?

It’s just a small, empty room with _Vingkäitä_ watching every move he makes.

The tears spill over and Dean sinks back down on the furs. He draws one up around his shoulders, but keeps it loose around his neck so it won’t rub against the spot that hurts. With a loud sniffle, and his vision going blurry as he cries, Dean draws his knees up to his chest and hugs them. He uses the sleeve of the tunic to rub at his eyes and nose.

What are they waiting for? The _Vingkäitä_ haven’t moved by the time he looks back up at them. Is he just going to be stuck here forever? Is it really just him? As much as he wishes his _äity_ or _otehkö_ were here too, heck even Sammy would make him feel better, Dean _really_ hopes that they’re not. He hopes that they’re back home in their family tree, safe and sound.

Something whirrs quietly on the other side of the room, and he immediately drops his head to see what it is. The small-ish circle is _moving_. Dean’s jaw drops and he stares as it slides down and into the wall all on its own. There’s still more wall there, but now it looks different. A little shiny, in a way, but still flat and still a wall. He’s at a loss for words to describe what he’s looking at.

Even the wall changing doesn’t make the _Vingkäitä_ move. They don’t react as Dean gets up, though he keeps the one around his shoulders, and takes slow steps over to inspect the difference. He’s terrified, but curious. Even though the fur is wrong, it’s a comforting weight around him, and he kind of needs that right now. Otherwise, he would leave it in the pile.

Before Dean even reaches the opposite wall, the circle space _flickers_. A light fills it, like a miniature sun on the wall but not nearly as bright. Dean reaches for it, wanting to see if it’s hot like direct sunlight feels when he stands in it for too long. But then the circle space flickers again, and suddenly there’s a grown-up standing in it. He gasps and jumps back a step.

The grown-up is a woman he’s never seen before. Her hair is a dirty yellow, darker than _Äity’s_ but lighter than _Otehkö’s_. She is also very _small_. The smallest grown-up that Dean has ever seen. Her head is as big as his hand, if not a little bigger. It’s like she’s a painting on the wall of his home, but she’s _moving_. A moving painting? Impossible! Dean wouldn’t believe it if he wasn’t seeing it for himself.

She smiles and waves at him, even though her eyes aren’t really looking _at_ him. Her smile is a little stressed and Dean recognizes that kind of smile. It’s the same kind of smile _Äity_ has when she’s afraid that _Otehkö_ has been out hunting for too long. The moving painting lady is worried – _afraid_ , but putting on a brave face. And that scares him.

He backs away, and then dives for the pile of fur when she starts _talking_. Dean hides behind it, because this has to be some kind of _magic_. The _Vingkäitä_ take people, make them small, and put them in walls. That must be what’s going to happen to him!

“ _I know you must be scared right now, but please do not worry_.” The woman’s smile turns a little softer. She has a bit of an accent that Dean has never heard before; speaking his language but with different inflections.

“ _My name is Ellen, and I am on the other side of that door_.” She points to the wall on Dean’s right, where he found one of the half-circle ridges that dipped into the wall. “ _You are here because you were collected by the Vingkäs_.”

Dean frowns. Does she mean the _Vingkäitä_? Why did she say it weirdly? And why is she talking so formally? It’s kinda stilted and weird. Like she’s not saying it all at the same time. He doesn’t like it and he wishes it would stop.

“ _You will be starting a new life here with a collection of other tribe members from the same area._ ” Ellen puts a hand to her chest. “ _I am from the mountains. Members of your new tribe here are from the plains, the seas, and even the jungle. You will see many new faces, but you do not have to be afraid. We are going to be your new family now_.”

What? _No_! Dean starts shaking his head slowly, horrified with what the magic painting is telling him.

“ _I know this will be difficult for you to understand at first. It was difficult for all of us, but once you get used to it, you will understand that life is better here_.” Ellen’s smile goes a little strained again, and Dean knows, without a doubt, that she’s lying again. “ _There are no predators here, and we always have good food to eat. Anything we could ask for is given to us. The Vingkäs watch us, and they learn from us, but we do not need to fear them. They simply want to learn_.”

Learn? About _what_? What could they possibly learn from him that they haven’t learned from all the others they’ve taken? Is… Is this why no one is ever seen again? Are they just… _kept_ here? That’s – It’s – This is a nightmare. It has to be. There’s no other explanation for it. Dean fell and hit his head while he was running from the _Vingkäitä_ and he just hasn’t woken up yet.

Fear gives way to anger and Dean throws the fur off. He stomps over to the door that Ellen pointed at and he bangs at it, shouting at the painting-Ellen and up to the _Vingkäitä_. “Let me _out_! I want to go home!” He kicks at the door and winces at the pain that shoots up his foot. “You can’t keep me here!”

Ellen doesn’t even blink or acknowledge him. “ _I can tell you more about your new life here when I see you in person. This is just a… a recording of me. The Vingkäs are a very advanced people, with tools we have never dreamed of. They will use these tools to take very good care of you_.”

“No!” Dean stomps his foot. “I don’t want them to take care of me!” He drums at the wall with both of his fists until they’re sore. “I want to go home!” Tears are streaming down his face again, and he doesn’t even know when they started. But Dean blinks them away and glares up at the _Vingkäitä_ still standing above him. “Take me back home _right now_!”

A few of them tilt their heads, and Dean even notices that the small one’s wings flick out a bit, but none of them say anything. They don’t do anything except bow their heads and poke at the flat things in their hands. It’s like they’re ignoring him, and Dean hates it. No, he hates _them_!

Since they’re obviously not going to answer him, Dean marches over to the moving-painting and reaches out to touch Ellen. She’s flat and cold, like the wall, and doesn’t react. All she does is blink and give that same tense smile before she disappears altogether. The light in the wall vanishes, and the bit of it that had slid away comes back up until the wall is almost perfectly smooth again.

“Come back!” Dean slaps at the moving piece of the wall. “Come back and _take me home_!”

His shouting cuts off in the middle of a demand when a noise behind him catches his attention. Dean turns around just in time to see the door Ellen had pointed at slide away. Pieces of it fold in on themselves, sliding away neatly into the wall and leaving most of a circle cut out in the wall. Various vines of different types of ivy hang in the way, blocking the view of whatever might be waiting for him on the other side. He can hear voices and Dean seizes up for a moment, but just a moment, before he sprints for the furs again.

Burying under them, Dean flattens himself out as best he can and ignores any aches in the back of his neck. He lifts them back just a little bit, just enough for him to keep an eye on the door and whatever might be coming through it. Painting-Ellen did say that she would be waiting, but what if she’s as flat and unresponsive in person? And who else is here? Will there be anyone from his tribe?

No one has been taken in his lifetime, but _Otehkö_ said someone had been taken the season before he was born. Every time he comes back from the annual _taväiling_ – the great meeting between the chieftains – he has news about those who were taken from the other tribes. Äity always thanked the forest and its massive trees for keeping them safe. The other tribes are out in the open, but theirs is safely within their trees with lots of cover.

A lot of good that did Dean, though, didn’t it? Now he’s here, and he doesn’t even know where _here_ is. His family is… is who-knows-where, and now a bunch of strangers are supposed to be his new tribe? He’s just supposed to _accept_ that? No! The _Vingkäitä_ aren’t going to tell him what to do. They’re children stealers – _monsters_. Maybe they still plan to eat him after they’re done ‘studying’ him. What’s that even supposed to mean? Don’t they have enough people for that?

Why can’t he just go _home_?

The vines shift, parting right down the middle, and Dean holds his breath to make sure that he doesn’t move. Ellen – _real_ Ellen, not moving-painting Ellen – leans through them. She glances around the room, frowning slightly.

“Hello?” Her voice sounds clear and much nicer than it did as a moving-painting, but it still has that _slightly_ different accent to it than Dean is used to. “Is anyone in here?”

Dean stays frozen in place. Maybe, if he doesn’t reveal himself, she’ll just leave and the _Vingkäitä_ will leave, and then he can escape. He might have no idea where he is, but if he can find the river, then he can find his way back home. Somehow.

Ellen eventually settles on looking at the furs. One of her eyebrows raises slightly before she pulls back, the ivy falling back into place. She’s speaking loud enough just on the other side of it that Dean can still hear her. “It doesn’t look like anyone is here.”

A man’s voice answers her, with the same kind of weird accent. “Are you sure? It’s not like them to make a mistake…”

“Oh, I don’t think they did.” Ellen laughs, and it’s a nice sound, but it’s not as nice as _Äity’s_ laugh. “But it sure doesn’t _look_ like anyone is inside.”

There’s a moment of silence before the vines part again. This time a man leans in. He has a blond beard and blond hair, tied back and kept out of his face by a braid that hangs over his shoulder. Dean isn’t used to seeing men with long hair. Even the women of his tribe tend to keep it shorter, or tied back all the time. It just gets in the way, and twigs and branches catch on it when you’re in a hurry and not looking where you’re going.

The man looks around too, and the last place he looks is at the pile of furs. He stares at it for a really long time, and Dean takes slow, shallow breaths to try not to move too much. But still the man smiles gently. “Hi.”

Dean sucks in a sharp breath, and immediately covers his hand with his mouth to keep from making any other noise.

“You can come out from under there, y’know.”

He steps into the room, keeping his smile in place. Ellen follows, but they both stay by the door. Crouched, like they’re trying not to look threatening. Do they know they’re dealing with a kid? Probably. A grown-up wouldn’t be able to fit under the furs like this.

“My name is William.” The man touches his chest gently. “Everyone calls me Bill, so you can call me that too, okay?”

Bill holds out his hand, like he’s reaching out to a frightened animal, and Dean kind of hates him for it. He’s not a scared little _kuttö_ with its long ears and fluffy little tail, though he might as well be. The _Vingkäitä_ have caught him in a trap, just like the hunters do. He might not end up in a stew, like the _kuttö_ , but he’s still trapped.

“What’s your name?” Bill tilts his head slightly, like he’s trying to catch a look at him through the slit between the furs.

Dean stays stubbornly quiet and he definitely doesn’t move.

That doesn’t seem to bother him. Bill just keeps smiling, and he jerks a thumb over his shoulder at the door. “It’s a lot nicer out there, y’know? We have a big open field, and the bedrolls are really comfortable. They’re stuffed with fresh sweet grass. I bet you’d like that, hm? And we have big a pond to swim in. Do you like to swim?”

Yeah, he does, but he’s not going to say that out loud. Dean loved the river by the village. It was sluggish and not very deep, but the water was clear. He liked ducking down until his feet touched the bottom, and then he could drift in the current and watch all the fish that swam around him. They always ended up right in the fishing nets, but it was always nice to watch. Sometimes he would try to catch them with his hands, but they were so fast and slippery, and he never could get a good grip.

“Are you hungry?” Ellen puts a hand on Bill’s shoulder and uses it to help her stand back up. “We have some fresh fish roasting on the fire, caught just this morning. I bet that would taste good, wouldn’t it?”

That _does_ sound good. Dean’s stomach rumbles quietly and he shifts to put a hand over it, only to pull it away again because he doesn’t like the feel of the soft fabric. He did have breakfast, but he doesn’t know how long ago that was. Even though he could see the sky from this room, he couldn’t see the placement of the sun to figure out the time of day. It’s still bright out, but where do the _Vingkäitä_ live? It could be really close or really far away. Painting-Ellen didn’t say anything about it.

When he doesn’t answer for a long time, Bill sighs and points upwards. “They’re going to want you to come out sooner rather than later.” He’s gotta be talking about the _Vingkäitä_. “I know it’s tough being in this place at first, and being taken from your home, but I promise it’s not all bad. We’ve got a good group of people here.” Ellen snorts at his side and Bill elbows her in the thigh. “Mostly! But not everyone is perfect, y’know? Would you like to come meet them?”

No, he really wouldn’t. Dean doesn’t want new friends, or a new tribe. He just wants to go home where he knows everyone. Where he’s going to grow up and be their _taafër_ one… day… _Oh no_. What happens if he never gets back? Is Sammy going to take his place when _Otehkö_ steps down? That means Dean is never going to get to go to the _taväiling_ , or go see any of the other tribes, or even go beyond the map. How much is he _really_ going to get to see if he stays here? Oh no, oh no, oh _no_.

It’s starting to get hard to breathe. There’s no ceiling above him; just the clear space the _Vingkäitä_ are standing on, and the sky beyond them, but it feels like the walls are closing in on him. The furs feel like they’re suffocating him, and all Dean wants is to be home in his forest again. He wants the scent of leaves and loam, the rustle of the branches swaying in the wind, and the chatter of the animals in the brush while the birds sing. Dean can sort of hear them here, but barely, and he needs out.

 _He needs to get out_.

With great, heaving breaths, Dean throws the furs off and jumps to his feet. Both Ellen and Bill smile, but that quickly turns into surprise when he charges right for them. They jump out of the way and Bill falls back, right on his butt. Dean runs through the doorway, slapping the vines of ivy out of his face, and barrels straight into the stomach of another body. He stumbles back and looks up at him, eyes wide.

This man has darker skin than anyone Dean has ever seen before. His hair is black as night and curly and tight against his head, and he has jewelry hanging from his ears. He looks surprised, and then a little angry. “A kid?” His voice is deep, and rough, and the words sound just a little bit different again. “Those bastards brought us a _kid_ this time?”

Why doesn’t _anything_ sound right here?

Dean stumbles around that man, only to face off against a group of waiting people. There are another four men standing grouped together, and two women with young children in their arms. The man behind him puts a hand on his shoulder and Dean slaps it away with a shout, lurching away to try and put some distance between him and everyone else.

One of the women wears a patch of leather over her left eye, and she stands with a young girl in front of her. The girl is maybe the same age as Dean? Maybe a little younger? He doesn’t stay long enough to ask questions. Her light brown hair is done up in braids. The other woman has shockingly red hair, and she’s balancing a little girl with wavy blonde hair on her hip. Dean’s heart aches when he looks at that chubby face and the way she shoves a fist against her mouth, watching Dean with big, wide eyes. She looks like she’s Sammy’s age. Sammy’s height.

 _Sammy_. If Dean stays here, he’s never going to see him again. Who’s going to protect him and teach him about the world if his _hëmdrë_ isn’t there? Dean isn’t going to get to see him grow up. How tall is he going to be? Will he be taller or shorter than Dean? Or their _otehkö_?

Someone asks him a question. Someone else calls for Bill and Ellen. The little girl with the braids asks the woman holding her a question. It’s so much noise, and Dean should be used to that from his own tribe, but it sounds so _wrong_.

He glances over his shoulder in time to see the door spiral shut behind Bill and Ellen as they come out of the room. Now he can’t even go back there. He’s trapped in this place with all these strangers, and even standing at the edge of an open field he still can’t _breathe_.

Dean pushes past an older man who doesn’t look that old in the face, but he has thick gray hair curling over his ears. He sprints across the field, feet bare and the ground nothing more than soft grass and dirt under him. Normally he would be crunching over leaves, and twigs, and there would be various rocks around. Nothing is ever _just dirt_. But that’s all this place is. Dirt, grass, and flowers. They look familiar, but it’s not right that they’re trapped here just like him.

There are people calling behind him, but they don’t know his name. _Boy_ and _Kid_ , but not his name. They don’t know it. They’re _strangers_ , and Dean hates them for it. He doesn’t want to talk to them. He doesn’t want to get to know them. He doesn’t want to _be_ here. He wants his _home_.

Trees line one side of the field and Dean runs straight for them. To him, trees mean safety. He might not get up into the branches, but at least they’re familiar. Sort of. These trees are much shorter than the ones he knows, and they don’t look anything like the ones where his home is, but they’ll have to do. For now. Trees mean safety and he needs that right now.

If he’s lucky, there may be a way through them.

Dean runs into them, crashing through bushes that catch at his clothes. He doesn’t care if they tear. They don’t belong to him. They’re _wrong_ , and he paws at the tunic until he can drag it over his head. He drops it, and immediately stops caring about it.

Behind the trees is just another white wall. Dean almost runs into it head first. The trees are only five layers deep, and that doesn’t even count as a forest. The vines hang down over this wall too, and Dean desperately searches under it for a hint of another door. He can’t find anything, even as he makes his way along to the right.

Wall, wall, wall, _wall_.

This really is a nightmare, isn’t it? A waking nightmare.

Following the wall, Dean breaks out of the trees again and follows the ivy. It leads him towards a grouping of tents around a smoking fire, and he turns away from that. The far wall is all stones stacked up and up and up, all the way to the top of the wall almost in line with where the _Vingkäitä_ are standing. But it stops too suddenly, too sharply, to be natural. Even the water falling over it doesn’t make it look natural.

The water splashes into a mostly calm looking pool that takes up that whole end of this area. It looks nice and cool, but taking a swim is the last thing on Dean’s mind right now.

Everyone from this tribe is gathered by the door he came through. Dean turns away from them again, stumbling slightly but still running back towards the trees. There’s no way out that he can see, but the trees will still be safer. Probably. Hopefully.

On his way by, Dean counts three women, two little girls, and three men. There’s Bill, the dark-skinned man, and the man with the wavy white hair. In addition to them is another man with equally dark skin as the first, a heavyset man with patchy hair and a beard that already looks like it’s starting to go gray, and one tall man with short hair and a smile on his face that reminds Dean of a slithering _känge_. Dean makes sure to leave a big space between him and _Känge_ as he runs past them.

There’s one last wall to check, and maybe it has another door on it? Just maybe? Dean hopes and hopes, but he finds nothing. This is just one big cage. A wide, deep hole the _Vingkäitä_ put him in. And for what? To watch him? Learn about him? Why couldn’t they just do that from his home? Why did they have to _take_ him? Why couldn’t they just talk to him like painting-Ellen did and ask him the questions they want to know? He would have answered, probably, after he finished getting Sammy to safety. Or _Otehkö_ would have answered instead.

Dean makes it back to the trees before he gets tired of running. He stops against a tree and rests a hand against it, doubling over and breathing deep. At least the tree feels normal, even though it’s the wrong type of tree. He sinks down between its roots and hugs his knees to his chest, staring sadly at the dirt around him. How deep does it go? Could he dig his way out of here, or would he just find another white floor under it?

He’s too wrapped up in his thoughts and getting his breathing under control again to hear soft footsteps in the graze. Dean doesn’t realize that someone is sneaking up on him until he’s being yanked to his feet by a hand on his arm. His first instinct is to fight back, but he’s pulled against a hard chest. Whoever grabbed him wraps their arms around his waist, pinning his arms to his sides. They lift him from his feet and Dean _screams_.

If it’s a grown-up or a _Vingkäitä_ , he doesn’t care. Someone is carrying him when he doesn’t want to be carried, and he’s _furious_.

Dean screams himself hoarse, kicking and squirming for what little good it does him. He throws empty threats left, right, and center, demanding to be put down. His status in the tribe as future _taafër_ usually has him treated with respect. No grown-up has ever treated him like this, and Dean _rages_. His _otehkö_ always taught him to be brave, even when he’s not. Be brave and you can do anything. Except, apparently, to get some stranger to _put him down_.

Whoever is holding him doesn’t say anything. He just carries Dean across the field to the tents. Dean squirms and kicks the whole way. Ellen has a big clay pot hanging above the fire, and Dean can smell the stew she’s making. _Äity_ made the best stew, but this one smells wrong. The spices used are different, and he doesn’t care how hungry he is. He wants his _äity’s_ stew!

“Put him _down_ , Richard!” Bill approaches quickly, frowning heavily and gesturing sharply. “Are you _trying_ to traumatize him more?”

The fire is surrounded by logs draped in furs, dividing the fire from the ring of tents. Dean is unceremoniously dumped on one of them. He tries to get up right away, but a heavy hand lands on his shoulder and forces him back down again. When he looks up, it’s to find _Känge_ smiling down at him, slick and mean.

“I’m not the only one sick of his screaming.” _Känge_ shrugs, but he squeezes Dean’s shoulder hard enough to hurt. “There’s no getting out of this place, kid, so sit down, shut up, and listen to those of us that know what’s going on.”

Dean glares up at him for a moment, just long enough to pour all his hate and anger into that one look, and then he jerks his head to the side. His teeth snap together painfully just shy of _Känge’s_ arm, but it’s enough to spook him. _Känge_ jerks his hand away and takes a sharp step back, his smile falling. One of the dark-skinned men on the other side of the fire snorts a laugh, grinning with white teeth bright against his skin. He nudges the one next to him; younger, fitter, and bald except for a neatly trimmed beard around his mouth. They both chuckle as they smirk at _Känge_.

The older one shakes his head. “You deserved that one, Dick.”

“Don’t antagonize him, Rufus.” Ellen clucks her tongue at both men.

Her attention turns to Dean, soon enough. She fetches a polished wooden plate from the log behind her and brings it over to where Dean is sitting. It’s set with chunks of cooked fish, raw fruits and vegetables, and roasted potatoes. Ellen brings it over to where he’s sitting, but crouches far enough away from him that he doesn’t feel the need to lash out or run again… yet.

She holds the plate out to him; her smile soft and gentle. “Are you hungry?”

Dean hugs his stomach and starts at the food, mouth watering. It _looks_ normal enough, but the thought of actually eating it makes him feel queasy, no matter how hungry he is. He turns his face away without a word. Ellen waits a moment before putting the plate down at his feet. She makes no effort to get any closer, and Dean is a little bit grateful for it.

Somewhere off to his right, a child laughs. It’s followed with a string of babble peppered with actual words. Dean looks over to see the little girl around Sammy’s age standing at the flap of a tent. Only half her hair has been braided, and she has a small doll hanging from her hand.

“Cute, isn’t she?” Ellen sighs softly, and she sounds so warm. She crosses her arms over her knees. “That’s my _nentä_ , Joanna Beth. We just call her Jo, though.”

“She’s my _nentä_ too.” Bill adds as he drops into a squat next to her. He has a blanket in his hands and he tosses it lightly so it lands next to Dean. “You don’t have to use it if you don’t want to, but you can wrap yourself up in that if you’re cold.”

Or if he needs comfort. Dean might be young, but he can still understand the words that grown-ups leave unsaid. His parents did that a lot, and he always understood.

 _Nentä_ is a new word to him, but Dean assumes it means that the kid, Jo, is their daughter. He nods in understanding, but stays hunched in on himself. If anyone gets too close to him again, he’ll make a run for it. If he hides in the trees, not even _Känge_ will be able to get him. Dean isn’t the best climber, but he could probably get up into a tree and hide in the branches before anyone could find him. These trees are a lot shorter than the ones he’s used to, so maybe they won’t be as scary to climb.

After a long silence, Bill clears his throat and taps at his chest. “So, uh, you know me, I guess. I’m Bill and this is my wife, Ellen. That’s our _nentä_ , Jo.” He points across the camp at where the little girl had been standing, but she must have gone back into the tent.

Dean nods.

Ellen waits a moment before she points at the two dark-skinned men sitting on the other side of the firepit. “That’s Rufus, -” The one with the earrings waves. “- that’s Victor, -” Now the bald one waves. “- and you’ve met Richard.”

 _Känge_ is now sitting on a different log, his back to the tent the little girl was in. His poster is straight and his arms are crossed. He looks bored and he barely acknowledges that he’s being introduced. Dean likes him even less than before, somehow. Rufus’s name for him, _Dick_ , was so appropriate.

“I’m May.” A quiet voice from behind him has Dean flinching so hard that he nearly falls off the log. He turns around sharply to find the older girl with the braids piled on her head standing at the end of the log, looking at him with interest. “That’s my _äinan_.” She points back to the woman with the eyepatch where she’s kneeling at the entrance to one of the tents.”

The woman looks at Dean, and her face is stern, but still kind. She puts a hand to her chest and nods lightly at him. “Lily.” She waits until Dean acknowledges it with a tilt of his head, and then she gestures at the girl. “May, come here.”

May looks at Dean for a long moment before finally going off to her _äinan_. He assumes that’s supposed to mean _mother_ , but in their language. It doesn’t quite have the same ring as _äity_ does, though. Dean watches as Lily leads May into the tent, and the flap falls closed behind them.

A moment later, Jo comes running out of the other tent again. She waddles past Dick and goes straight to her _otehkö_ , turning her head back and forth to make her braids swing and show them off. Bill scoops her up into his lap and Dean’s heart aches for his own _otehkö_. Jo settles with a squeal of laughter.

Bill tickles her, but his eyes are on Dean. “What tribe are you from?”

Words feel like they’re stuck in his throat. Dean’s tongue is glued to the roof of his mouth and he can’t say anything – not that he wants to. He hesitates for a really long time before turning and pointing at the trees behind him.

Understanding fills Bill’s eyes. “Oh, I see.” He softens around the edges and almost looks sad. “We haven’t had anyone from your tribe before, so I guess that means you probably don’t know what _äinen_ and _nentä_ mean, huh?”

Dean just barely stops himself from rolling his eyes. He’s scared and upset, but he isn’t _dumb_. In fact, his _äity_ always told him that he was very bright, and _Otehkö_ said he was smart, just like him.

It takes some time for Dean to be able to get his tongue to move. He swallows a few times before finally being able to speak, and even then his tongue feels thick in his mouth. “Lily is May’s _äity_.” Her mother. “And Jo is your _nantsä_.” Their daughter.

Bill’s smile grows wide, and he leans over Jo in excitement. “That’s really neat, isn’t it?” He even laughs. “How they’re kinda the same, but kinda different? Our words changed just a little after each new tribe was founded. Different, but the same. Just like all of us.”

Ellen puts a hand on Bill’s shoulder and makes him sit back again. “We’re from the tribe in the mountains, but we were taken at different times. Frank too.”

She tilts her head towards one of the tents that has the flap tied up. Inside is the older man with the big belly. He has a pipe between his teeth, one hand supporting it while the other is crossed over his chest. Even though he’s not participating in the group, he’s certainly listening. His eyes are sharp and they watch Dean closely.

“Rufus and Victor are from the tribe on the plains.” Ellen nods at them next.

Dean can’t help but stare at them again. “Why’re you so dark?”

Victor snorts a laugh, but Rufus is the one who answers. “Our ancestors came from a different tribe entirely. Your tribes -” He pauses and gestures at everyone else around the fire. “- started from the mountains and spread out. But ours first crossed the great plans a long time ago and joined up with the tribe that your people came from. There are lots of people in our tribe that look like us, or lighter but still darker than you.”

That sounds incredible, and Dean can’t believe his _otehkö_ never said anything about it. Maybe he was saving it as a surprise for when he could take Dean with him on his travels? It definitely would have been a shock on the first trip to visit the plains tribe, or even for his first trip to the annual _taväiling_.

Dean looks down at his feet, struggling against the rising urge to cry. He wants to run again to escape the sudden horrible realization that he’s never going to get to do that, is he? He’ll never see the plains tribe, or the sea tribe, or even the mountain tribe. He’ll never get to be _taafër_ and go to the _taväiling_ on behalf of his people. He’ll never get to do anything while he’s trapped _here_.

“Richard and Donatello are from the tribe by the sea.” Ellen speaks softly, like she knows what he’s thinking. Dean sniffles and lifts his head, welcoming the distraction as she points out Dick and the older man with the way gray hair where he’s taken a seat next to him. “And Lily was from there too, but May was born here. Just like Jo.”

“Don’t forget Rowena. She’s from that tribe too.” Bill nods towards the tent behind Dick. Dean looks over as the woman with red hair crawls out.

She stands up to dust the dirt from her clothing. Her smile is sweet when she meets Dean’s eyes. “Yes, but I travelled with many others from across the sea.”

He does a double take when she speaks, if only because her accent is entirely different. Dick is from the same tribe but doesn’t have the same accent _at all_. His wonder only makes her smile grow, and she sits down on the log next to Dick.

“Oh, child, the world is _much_ bigger than you know.”

Dean knows that, and he chokes up again thinking about it. He wanted to see it all, and now he can’t. He’s stuck here, and he doesn’t even know where _here_ is.

Great. The tears are bubbling back up. Dean sniffles and grabs the blanket that Bill got for him. He wraps it around himself and pulls the edge up over his head. Slowly, he slips off the log so he can sit with it against his back. His knees get pulled to his chest and he hides his face against them, trying to muffle every little sound that squeaks out.

“Hey, hey…” Ellen’s voice is soft, but not soft enough to be lost by the sound of her shuffling a little closer. “I know this is a scary time for you, but it’s going to be okay. You’re part of our tribe now, and we’ll take good care of you.”

He shakes his head and trembles a little harder. “I want to go home.”

“This is your home now.” Dick’s tone is kind, but his words feel mean.

All Dean can do is shake in place, the tears coming harder now. “I want my _äity_ , and my _otehkö_ , a-a-and _Sammy_.” He’s all but wailing into his knees now. “I wanna go _home_.”

Not more than a moment later, and Dean finds himself being gathered up into Ellen’s arms. He knows it’s her without having to look, because she’s shushing him softly. Her hand sweeps up and down his back over the blanket as she holds him to her chest, rocking side to side.

At first, Dean fights it. He squirms and tries to wriggle away, because Ellen isn’t his _äity_ and he only wants _her_. But the blanket is like a cocoon, and it’s wrapped too tightly around him. Ellen’s arms are firm and holds on, humming soft songs and rubbing his back just like how Dean’s _äity_ would do for him when he was scared of the big storms that made the trees shake and the sky flash angry and loud.

Ellen keeps rocking him until Dean gives up; until he’s too tired to fight and cry. All he can do now is sniffle and sag against her chest. There’s comfort in this, even if she’s not his _äity_. It’s still nice, and Dean leans into it and takes what he can get.

Eventually, when he’s cried himself out, he pulls the blanket back to look around. Bill and Jo are sitting next to them now. Bill pats him on the knee through the blanket. “It’s rough right now, I know, but it’ll get better.”

Dean doesn’t believe him, especially not with the _Vingkäitä_ still standing above them. He lifts his head to glare at them, and notes that they have moved over to stand above the campsite instead of by the door. It’s like they want to have a better view of what’s happening, and that’s so… Sick.

“I hate them.”

“We all do, in our own way.” Bill drops his voice into a whisper and glances up too. “But they do take care of us. If someone gets sick, or injured, the _Vingkäs_ come and take them away. Later, they’ll bring them back all healthy again.” He shrugs and looks down at Jo where she’s making her little doll walk across his knee. “They always bring us good, tasty food, and there are always fish to catch. They give us everything we need to make the things we want.”

Rowena laughs and gestures around the camp. “All of this we made with our own hands with the tools we made from the supplies they gave us.”

Dean rubs a hand under his nose. “But why?” He just doesn’t understand what the point of all of this is.

“They want to learn about us.” Ellen pats his back lightly. “You saw the other me, right?”

Oh, right! He almost forgot about that. “The painting moved and talked.”

She looks off across the camp, but not really looking at anything specific. “Kid, they have things you’ve never even _dreamed_ of.” With a sigh, she tilts her head back to look up at the _Vingkäitä_. “They call themselves Aetherians, and they’ve never spoken to us directly. In all the times I’ve been around one, I’ve never seen or heard them say a single world.”

That doesn’t seem right. “How did you know what to say in the moving-painting?”

Ellen shifts under him, expression twisting into something uncomfortable. Her eyes go unfocused and she stares off into nothing again. “All this time and I still don’t even know how to describe it. They had this… thing. All of them had one, and they have them now, actually. The flat thing they’re holding?” She gestures up at where the _Vingkäitä_ are. “They would poke at it and it would speak words to me in a weird, emotionless voice. It asked me to repeat the words it said, and insisted that I smiled.”

“I was worried they weren’t going to bring you back that time.” Bill puts an arm around Ellen’s shoulders. “You were still early in your pregnancy, and I thought…” He shakes his head and leans in to press a kiss to her temple.

Dean shivers at the look in their eyes. That’s fear. For all they talk about how nice it can be here, and how it’s not too bad, everyone still fears what the _Vingkäitä_ can do to them. He looks up at them and the way they still watch, silent and _creepy_ , and wonders if there’s ever been a time when they took someone away and no one ever saw them again.

As if reading his mind, Rufus speaks up. “They always bring us back.” He gives Dean an easy smile from across the fire. “I was the first one here, and we haven’t lost anyone yet. They might take you away for a bit, but you’re always brought back.”

“But why?” Dean frowns and shifts to get a better look of him. “Because you were sick?”

Rufus shakes his head and looks down at his hands. “Sometimes they take us to go sit on a cold slab just so they can poke and prod at you.” He shrugs and rubs at the back of his neck. “I honestly can’t say I know what they’re doing.”

“They’re studying us.” Frank finally speaks; a gruff huff from inside his tent. “They take measurements and track how we grow and age.”

“It’s best not to fight them when they want to do that.” Rowena sighs and leans back on her hands, stretching her legs out.

She’s wearing soft moccasins, and her long tunic is covered in sparkling beads and dyed threads. In Dean’s tribe, they only decorate the important clothing they wear for ceremonies. They don’t have all the supplies needed to decorate _all_ their clothing like that. What they do have, they find more important to be used in other places. Seeing Rowena wear such fancy clothes like it’s what she wears every day is… weird.

“If you fight them, they’re going to poke you with something that makes you go right to sleep.” Rowena keeps talking without noticing how Dean stares. “I slapped one once, and next thing I know, I woke up right back here, but I had been gone half the day.” She tilts her head slightly. “I think?”

Victor nods, though he doesn’t look up from the wood in his hands. A flint knife shaves away strips that gather in a pile between his feet. “I saw it happen. The bastard didn’t even flinch.” His lips draw together in a thin line. “You might as well have been an insect to them, for all the good fighting does.”

That’s terrifying, but Dean huffs and glares up at the _Vingkäitä_. _Äity_ always said he was too stubborn for his own good, and he hates what they’ve done to him. It makes him want to fight, so fight he will. If they want to take him to do whatever they want to him, if they want to _study_ him, then he’s not going to make it easy on them. He’ll fight every step of the way until they let him go home.

Ellen shakes herself out and ruffles Dean’s hair. “All that aside, it’s really very safe here.” She tries sounding brighter, and even Bill breaks into a big smile that doesn’t _quite_ reach his eyes. “The weather is always perfect, and even the cold season doesn’t reach us here.”

Dean knows that’s supposed to give him comfort, but all that does is make him mad. The seasons are constant. To make things so perfect that there are none is… It’s wrong. As wrong as stealing people from their tribes and putting them here in this place. He doesn’t even care that there isn’t much of a cold season in his forest. He just hates the idea that everything is the same here.

He turns his face into the gentle breeze that drifts through the air and sniffs. It smells like… nothing he recognizes. “Does it rain?”

“Not really.” Bill shrugs and glances over his shoulder at the field. “Sometimes water shoots up from the ground at night, making it all misty in here. I think that’s how they keep the grass and the trees from dying.” His face falls slightly. “I miss the rain.”

See? This all sounds horrible the more he hears about it. Dean liked listening to the rain on the leaves. It always put him to sleep so nicely.

How any of them can say that it’s _nice_ here is beyond him. How can any of them look _happy_ about this place? How can they smile when everything is so different from what they know? Don’t they miss their families? Their friends? Their tribes? Don’t they care that there must be people who miss them? Don’t they want to see more than just whatever the _Vingkäitä_ put inside these four stupid walls for them?

Don’t they want _more_?

They must be lying to themselves; trying to make the best of a nightmare.

Why don’t they fight? How many _Vingkäitä_ are there that they can’t gang up against them? Dean looks up again and counts them again. The original group is down to just three; two big, and the small one who is still crouched and watching closely. A couple others are standing separated from that group, but otherwise he’s only seen a handful of them at a time. How many can there actually be, though?

Everyone is quiet for a long time while Dean is lost in his thoughts. They spin around and around in his head, drowning out the crackling of the fire or the boiling of the stew. It does smell really good, though, and it makes his mouth water and his stomach rumble. That’s enough to bring his attention back down, right to the plate of food that Ellen prepared for him. He’s hungry, definitely, but the thought of actually eating right now makes him queasy.

Dean knows, without a doubt, that the food came from the _Vingkäitä_ somehow. It wasn’t grown under the brush surrounding the trees, and how did the fish get into the pool? It looks closed off, and Dean doesn’t think that they’ve always been there. The _Vingkäitä_ control everything here in some way, and he wants nothing to do with it. Everything here _sucks_ … Except, maybe, the people. But definitely everything else sucks, and his homesickness just grows and grows.

After a while, Ellen moves Dean back to the log. She picks up the plate and puts it in his hands. “You should have something to eat, kiddo. You’ll feel better.”

He probably would, but he just… he can’t. Dean puts it aside and curls up again, wrapping his arms around his knees and hugging them tightly to his chest. Ellen and Bill share a look between them, but they say nothing. With a sigh, she turns to go check on the stew.

What kind of meat is in it? Fish, probably. Dean really doubts that there’s any _hiruut_ around. He can hear the chatter of smaller creatures back in the trees, so maybe it’s from them? Or maybe it’s just a vegetable stew with no meat at all.

If the _vingkäitä_ give them everything they need, would they give him _hiruut_ meat if he asked for it? How would they get it? How can he ask for it? He looks around at all the things in the camp and wonders how these people get what they need. If he asked for a canoe, would the _Vingkäitä_ give him one even though he has no need for it?

None of it makes sense to him.

Dean stays huddled up on himself and watches as everyone more or less returns to their daily life. Rowena settles at a massive contraption of wood and string, and begins to weave a wooden stick through it. There’s coloured string attached to the stick, and she hums to herself as she works. It looks like she’s making a blanket.

He watches her for a while, captivated by this different process. What’s that string made of? It looks very different from the plant fibers or leather from hide that his people use. _Äity_ said that some of the other tribes use something called _wool_ that they get from the _pädder_ of her totem. Is that what wool looks like? _Pädder_ don’t live in his forest, so he’s never seen one in person before. His tribe has lots of access to _hiruut_ and many different plants, though, so that’s what they work with.

Dick and Donatello have settled down with something that looks like fishing line. One is braiding thin strands of string together, and the other is tying wooden hooks to the end. Victor is still focused on whatever he’s carving, and Rufus has a bowl in his lap and he’s grinding things that he takes out of woven baskets propped up behind the log he’s sitting on.

Frank just smokes in his tent, watching the movement of the camp the same way the _Vingkäitä_ are watching from above.

Eventually, Lily and May come out of their tent. They settle down at the edge of the fire with two things that Dean doesn’t recognize. It has a wide, hollow base that sits in their laps, and a long piece that crosses over their chests and rests against their shoulders. There are strings stretched across the whole length of it.

May has a wide, flat piece of wood held in her hand. She arranges herself until the fingers of her right hand can move over the strings along the long piece. With the wood, she starts tapping and plucking at the strings. It makes a plinking, trembling sound, and it’s nothing like Dean has ever heard before. He sits up straighter, watching as Lily starts playing her instrument too.

He’s never heard the song they’re playing, but Ellen hums along to it. Rowena changes her tune to match it too. Victor and Rufus start singing lowly in deep rumbles that barely make it across the campfire. It’s an upbeat tune, but it doesn’t lift Dean’s spirits.

Next to him, Jo is starting to squirm and get fussy while she yawns. Bill hefts her in his arms and takes her to one of the tents. It must be nap time, though Dean doesn’t actually know what time it is. The sky is still bright above them, but he’s not sure where the sun is. For all he knows, it could be early afternoon, or late morning.

Once Jo is put to bed, Bill and Ellen walk to the water. There are a few piles of blankets and clothing sitting at the edge of the pond. They wade out into the water, dragging one of the blankets with them, and start the process of beating it against some rocks. Dean watches them work their way through the piles, and watches as Dick leaves Donatello to the fishing lines so he can go swimming.

As much of a nightmare as this in, he does appreciate how nice these people are. No one is pushing him right now, or trying to interact with him anymore. They’re just going about their business while he watches them, because this is what they do all day, isn’t it? Most of it isn’t much different than what happens at home, but it’s still not the same. If he was at home, he would be helping _Äity_ take care of Sammy while cleaning, making, cooking, gathering, or so many other things. Or he would be going about the village with _Otehkö_ to offer help to other members of the tribe and make sure that everyone has the supplies that they need.

There’s no need to do that here, is there? Not if the _Vingkäitä_ give them everything. Would they give him mushrooms and onions, or would he find those growing somewhere in the fake-forest or pristine field? Maybe the field is more like the plains that Victor and Rufus are from? Dean is used to smaller clearings with logs, or boulders. It’s always full of other things. It’s never _just_ grass and flowers stretching out to the line of trees on the other side.

Every so often, Ellen returns to stir the stew, or someone else gets up to do it for her. Rowena keeps smiling at Dean whenever she catches her eye. By the third time, she pats the space next to her and gestures for him to come join her. He’s tempted, somewhat, but he chooses not to move.

It’s a long time before a shadow passes over them. Dean looks up sharply, only to see a – What in the world _is_ that? Whatever it is arches across the whole sky. It’s a black band high above them. He lifts his hand to measure it, and it’s as wide as _both_ hands, which means it’s _much_ bigger if he were to get closer to it – _Otehkö_ explained that to him a long time ago. It swings slowly overhead, casting a narrow shadow across the field.

Dean watches it until it’s passed out of sight behind the walls.

“There’s another one.” Donatello brings Dean’s attention back down. The band passed from Dean’s left to his right, and Donatello points in the direction behind him. “It comes from that direction and it’s exactly the same. Passes right over head, and –” He makes a whooshing sound and arcs his arm around to point in the direction Dean is facing in. “- goes down over there. It passes by late at night, and you only notice because it blots out the stars.”

“What are they?”

He shrugs and brushes a few strands of gray hair out of his eyes. “Nobody knows. But if you ever get one of them –” At this, he gestures to the _Vingkäitä_. “- one of them to actually answer you, make sure to ask them. We’d love to know.”

Dean hums and continues looking at the _Vingkäitä_. They didn’t react at all to the sky-band. If Donatello is right, and it is an everyday occurrence, then of course everyone here would be used to it. That’s… weird. Why would they just get _used_ to that? Obviously that’s not normal. In all his many seasons alive, he’s never seen _anything_ like that before. That means it’s not _natural_. It’s something that belongs to the _Vingkäitä_ , and that means… He’s very far from home.

After she finishes playing a second song, May stands up stretches. She leaves her instrument next to her mother and crosses around the firepit to stand in front of Dean. They stare at each other for several moments before she puts her hands on her hips.

“What’s your name?”

It would be easy for him to answer her. He’s said many things to most of the people here, and it shouldn’t be hard for him to speak to May either. And yet… His mouth doesn’t want to work again. His name sits heavy on the back of his tongue, and all he can do is stare at her.

May frowns and crouches down to his height. “I’m May.”

“I know.” That came easy, but his name? It won’t come.

She rolls her eyes at him and crosses her arms. “So, who are _you_?”

Dean can tell that everyone else is listening in now. They’re all paying attention, because they all want to get to know him. He knows that they just want to make him feel comfortable here. His mind understands that, but his mouth doesn’t want to listen. And it’s more than that, really. They want to accept him into their tribe, but they can’t really do that without a name, can they?

Once again, Dean’s stubbornness rears its ugly head. He doesn’t _want_ to get to know May, or any of the others. What he wants is his _family_. He wants his home, and his tribe, and – and to not be _here_ anymore.

Instead of answering her, Dean looks away and pulls the blanket up over his ears. May doesn’t move and continues staring at him, her mouth pinched in a little line. Eventually, she signs and goes back to where Lily is waiting for her. He watches her go, and frowns at the swirls and loops of black on the white nape of her neck. Part of him wants to ask about it, but she probably wouldn’t answer, especially not after he refused to give his name.

Lily starts up another song, and May joins in. After a few plinking tunes, a drum starts up from inside Frank’s tent. Dean doesn’t know this song either, and he desperately wishes for the familiar songs of his own tribe. He pulls the blanket over his head, and puts his hands over his ears. Another sting of tears makes his nose tingle, and he squeezes his eyes shut against it.

It’s not a very long time before Jo wakes up again. The sun still isn’t in the sky, but the shadows of the tents have gotten longer. No one seems to care that the sun is missing, even though Dean can feel the sunshine on his back and the sunshine lights everything around them. The tribe goes about their day around him, letting Dean wallow in his sadness.

Every so often, he’ll pull the blanket down to watch what everyone is doing. Or sometimes he just glares up at the _Vingkäitä_. He’s actually seen some of them come and go, walking on their creepy bird feet. It makes Dean’s stomach tighten and his chest hurt. They’re so _weird_. Why do they look almost like him, but have horns, and wings, and the different feet? What else about them is different from him? And why don’t they _talk_? Dean hasn’t met a single animal yet that doesn’t make some kind of sound.

When the sky starts turning pink and gold, Dean knows that the sun is setting somewhere. It feels wrong not being able to see it sinking behind the smudge of mountains that he can just barely see from his family tree. He can’t believe that he actually misses the bridges that connect all the different trees of the village. But not the height. He’ll never miss the _height_.

At this time of day, _Äity_ would be shuffling around their home, cleaning up all the things that they worked on. Dinner would be almost ready, and Sammy would be fussing because he’s hungry. _Otehkö_ would show up with one person or a whole family from the village, and they would share their dinner with them. They would talk, and sing, and laugh.

Instead, Dean gets Donatello standing up to serve the stew as everyone comes to settle around the fire again. The only one who doesn’t join them is Frank. He takes his bowl of stew in his tent. Dean doesn’t take the bowl offered to him, and it gets left next to his untouched plate. Everyone else, however, settles down to slurp quietly from their bowls while they talk amongst themselves.

Sometimes, Ellen or Bill, or even Rowena, will try and draw him into the conversation. Dean doesn’t answer them. He holds the blanket tight and watches them, and the _Vingkäitä_. The blanket is the same soft fabric as the clothes that aren’t his, but it still gives him some kind of comfort. He should hate it, though. Just like he hates the feel of the clothes. Did someone ever find the tunic he took off in the small-forest?

It’s kind of funny, isn’t it? Dean always thought that he would prefer to live on the ground. He thought it would be safer. Now he’s down here and he doesn’t feel safe at all. They said it’s perfect here, which must mean that there are no predators. He did a lap of this place, and he didn’t see anything that would suggest the pack hunters – the _sukas_ – live here too.

But that doesn’t mean that there isn’t something dangerous here. The _Vingkäitä_ , for example.

By the time dinner is done, the sun has fully set. That seems to mark the end of the day for this tribe. One by one, they retire to their own tents. Victor, Rufus, Donatello, and Dick all have their own spaces, and they head there with short goodnights. Most of them even wave at Dean before the flap of their tent closes behind them. Frank simply closes his tent without a word.

May shares Lily’s tent, obviously, and they head off together. She waves at Dean and points at him from the front of her tent. “You better tell me your name tomorrow!”

Maybe he will, maybe he won’t. Dean can only stare after her, mentally, emotionally, and now physically exhausted. He’s really hungry, but he feels so numb the longer he sits here. Maybe he’ll just waste away, and then the _Vingkäitä_ won’t have any hold on them. That’ll teach them to steal him from his home.

Jo is asleep again, but this time she’s curled up in Ellen’s arms. Rowena hangs back with Ellen and Bill, but she doesn’t say anything as they all crouch around Dean.

Bill nudges the bowl of stew a little closer. “We can make you a tent of your own tomorrow, if you want? Or, you’re welcome to stay with us. Tonight, tomorrow, or for as long as you need.”

“Or me.” Rowena smiles, easy and kind. “I have a _näsemm_ a little older than you, but it’s been a long time since I saw him.”

It takes Dean a moment to realize that she must mean her son. He has no interest in replacing her son for her, or sharing a tent with another family. None of these people will ever be his _äity_ or _otehkö_. And Jo is _definitely_ not Sammy.

Dean shakes his head, but he does feel a little twinge of regret when Rowena’s face falls slightly. She looks a little sad, but still manages a smile. “Well, little one, if you get lonely or need a tent, you can always crawl in with any of us when you’re ready to retire.”

“That’s right.” Ellen nods, swaying slightly as she rocks Jo. “No one is going to turn you away.”

Bill has a hand on her shoulder, but he’s smiling brightly at Dean. “We may all be from different tribes, but we’re all one big family here.”

Why doesn’t Dean fully believe him on that?

They linger for a moment longer before finally heading off to their own tents. Rowena goes to hers, and Bill, Ellen, and Jo go to their own. Dean stays right where he is, staring into the banked fire and the glowing embers that will sputter out eventually. He doesn’t move even after a rumble of snores starts up from various tents. He stays until he gets too hungry to ignore the cold food sitting within reach.

Dean brings the bowl of stew to his nose and takes a sniff. It smells like fish. Luckily, he hasn’t met a fish he doesn’t like the taste of yet. Still, he takes a cautious sip. The flavours are different from the fish stew that his _äity_ makes, but it’s not bad. There are plenty of vegetables and potatoes in it, but he still dumps the contents of the plate into the bowl too.

With the blanket still around his shoulders and the bowl in hand, Dean stands up. He looks up at the _Vingkäitä_ still above him. The same group that has been here all day are still mostly here, though all of them are squatting now. Maybe they’re tired? Good. They _should_ be. He hopes bad things happen to them when they go to their own homes after this. Eventually. If they even have homes.

But, if there’s a small chance that they’re going to spend the night there, Dean doesn’t feel comfortable staying out where they can see him. He doesn’t want to go into the tent and sleep next to a stranger, so that only leaves him one option. And that’s why, with a huff, he takes the bowl and blanket with him as he shuffles back across the field in the dark. Trees are safety, and that’s where he plans to spend the night – far out of sight of the _Vingkäitä_.

Sighing, he tucks himself between the roots of a tree right up next to the wall. The white not-stone peeks through the vines and Dean stares at it while he sits at the stew. He tilts the chunks of meat and veggies into his mouth, chewing without thinking. His mind is just… empty. All his thoughts feel really far away, and he can’t even really feel his body unless he thinks about it.

Once he’s finished the food and his stomach doesn’t feel so hollow anymore, Dean gets to his feet. He can’t stand the feel of the soft cloth of these clothes that don’t belong to him. His eyelids feel heavy and he sways in place as he kicks out of the leggings and undoes the tie on the loincloth. He still finds it hard to believe that they took the loincloth he was wearing this morning. The _Vingkäitä_ stole his _clothes_. Who does that? They make no sense to him.

The blanket isn’t as soft as the clothes, probably because it’s well used. It’s still made of the fabric that Dean isn’t used to, but he likes it better than the clothes. They had a few blankets like this back in his family tree. _Otehkö_ would bring blankets and so many different things back from the annual _taväiling_ , or from his trips to the other villages. Dean loved getting to see it all, and he was _really_ looking forward to the day he would get to see where everything came from in person.

With a sniffle, Dean pulls the blanket up around himself and curls into the dip between the roots. He’s naked and uncomfortable, but this is the best he can do for now. He closes his eyes and tries to force himself to sleep despite the situation. It’s hard, though. Everything sounds and smells different, and Sammy isn’t snuffling in his sleep nearby. _Äity_ and _Otehkö_ aren’t on the level above, whispering to themselves about their plans for tomorrow.

Dean whimpers quietly to himself, and the tears start all over again. He presses his knuckles into his eyes and tries not to think. If he sleeps, maybe he’ll wake up in his _äity’s_ arms in the morning and find that this was all a nightmare.

Morning comes too soon and Dean sits up, yawning and feeling like he didn’t sleep at all. For a moment, he’s confused. He looks around, trying to place where he is. Something rustles in the brush nearby and he turns to blink at it. It takes too long for Dean to realize that’s not a good thing and his heart starts thundering hard in his chest, the memories of yesterday rushing back with each thump.

The leaves part and a _kuttö_ hops out into the open, its little nose twitching. Dean stares at it, shocked to see something he actually recognizes here. The _kuttö_ snuffles through a patch of grass before lifting its head to sniff the air. Its beady little eyes fall on Dean and it freezes. He doesn’t move, holding his breath as they stare each other down.

Eventually, the _kuttö_ turns tail and hops away, disappearing around a tree. Dean rubs the grit from his eyes and looks up. Sunlight is streaming through the branches and the leaves are outlined in gold above him. It’s similar but still not his home, and he sniffles slightly. He rubs a hand under his nose and looks around again. This time he’s searching for something in particular.

It takes a while, but he manages to find a rock that fits in his palm. Dean parts the vines on the wall in front of the tree where he spent the night, and he scrapes at the white not-stone with the rock. He scratches at it until a mark is made, and then he does it again to make a second mark right beside it.

This is the dawn of his second day here, and he has no idea what to expect of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, in case you didn't know, but I accidentally deleted the original work of The Human Zoo. I had to repost chapters 1 and 2, and all comments/kudos/subscriptions/bookmarks were lost. Just as an FYI if you need to remake a subscription/bookmark! ♥


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Collaboration with and [concept art by jdragon122](https://jdragon122.tumblr.com/post/641226657048461312/here-it-is-folks-castiel-and-deans-design-for) | [fanart](https://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/hz%20art) | [Tumblr fic tag](https://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/fic%3A-human-zoo) | [Vocabulary](https://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/641578566441664512/vocabulary-for-the-human-zoo-this-will-be) | [Specimen Designations](https://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/645385597637279745/cass-pov-from-the-human-zoo-is-just-a-little)

Castiel is completely and utterly mystified by 1-M-7. He has seen many _homo sapien_ children before, but this is the first that he has seen one so newly collected. Whatever small part of him aches for a child taken from its home is immediately overcome by his ever-growing desire to learn. He crouches down as low as he can get to the floor of the bridge, head cocked to the side as he watches 1-M-7 move around the transition room.

Collection of a _homo sapien_ specimen is not a common occurrence, even less so when it is a child. This is the first that Castiel has gotten to see one in person, and 1-M-7 examines his surroundings slowly but thoroughly. He feels along the walls, finding the shallow definitions of the two doors and the cover for the screen. 1-M-7 does appear to show some fear, but he also has a healthy curiosity. Castiel, strangely, feels proud of this little specimen. He looks forward to seeing 1-M-7 grow up in their care.

The first introduction to Aetherian technology for _homo sapien_ specimens is a welcome video that has, thus far, gone over mostly well with new acquisitions. Every sector has its own video, and the welcome message is given by one of the specimens from that sector’s enclosure. In this particular instance, the first female specimen they had for this sector, 1-F-1, was the one chosen for this.

Curious, Castiel presses one of the buttons along the side of his PADD to bring up a little square at the top right corner, and he quickly writes down a reminder to himself to look into what 1-F-1's role within the enclosure’s tribe is. When done, he taps the button again and the square goes away, but a notification remains in the margins of the PADD indicating that he has made a note worth following up on. He is certain that someone, somewhere, has written a report on the decision as to why 1-F-1 was selected for the recording. While she is the first female for the Alpha Sector enclosure, there were already males in the enclosure before her collection.

Mother chooses when she believes is the best time to start the video. She starts it shortly after 1-M-7 has finished exploring the transition room. He seems surprised by the appearance of the screen, and even more startled when the video begins, which is to be expected. 1-M-7 approaches the screen, and it does not take him long to begin exhibiting _anger_. Castiel is intrigued by the swing between emotions and he makes efforts to document it all.

Even though they stand a good ten meters in the air above the transition room, 1-M-7's small voice reaches them all the way up here. Aetherian hearing is also quite sharp, but 1-M-7 is shouting rather loudly as he hits the walls.

Castiel understands every word of it.

As soon as he was able, he has studied every _homo sapien_ language that they have on file. This interest in their languages has placed Castiel within the minority of his future coworkers. From what he has gathered from listening to his mother’s conversations, most do not see the point of trying to understand a species they see as inferior.

1-M-7's anger verges on desperation as he loudly demands – _begs –_ to be taken home. The emotion in his voice causes a tightening sensation in Castiel’s chest. He says nothing, does nothing, and especially does not look at his mother. Castiel keeps his wings still and his head bowed over his PADD. Most importantly, he does not allow any of his emotions into his _sha’ra_ to ensure that no one may accidentally feel them.

He does, however, reach for his mother’s _sha’ra_ so he may speak with her. _(1-M-7 appears to be distressed and is not adjusting well to the new information provided to him.)_

She does not react physically, but does give the equivalence of a mental shrug. _(It is rather hit or miss with how a new specimen will react to the recording. We shall continue to observe.)_

Castiel’s grip on his PADD tightens slightly. As a Zoologist, are they also not caretakers for the tribe in this enclosure? They study them, of course, and the knowledge they have gathered from those studies allows them to build habitats that support all the different tribes from within the respective sector. They know what supplies to provide them that would keep the specimens happy and stay busy. They learn how to care for the specimens and keep them healthy.

But, the department of Psychology within the Social Sciences Division has done extensive research on _homo sapiens_ and their mental wellbeing. Has Mother not kept up to date on their reports? Castiel has, and there are _many_ long-lasting effects that have been noted about _homo sapiens_ that have been in captivity for too long.

Most notably, it has been documented that there is a significant difference in habits from what has been observed of the specimens in their home environment versus in captivity, including a difference in tribe hierarchies. To Castiel’s understanding, many also exhibit the characteristics of being traumatized.

Thankfully, for 1-M-7, the tribe in the Alpha Sector enclosure has not had many problems yet. There have, regrettably, been reports of aggression and suicide following a collection. It has happened here, in their own facility, but in other sectors, as well as documented in the zoos held on _Ra’haya’s_ sister cities. Any reasoning one might have as to _why_ this occurs are merely theories, but Castiel is firm in his beliefs that it is because some _homo sapiens_ cannot accept the kind of life they would face in captivity.

Despite all efforts to make the enclosures and the tribes as comfortable as possible, to some… death is a better option.

Castiel tries hard not to think about that. If his thoughts turn to it, all he can do is wonder if Aetherians are doing the right thing in collecting members of what is clearly a developing civilization. But the Aetherian creed is not about what is _right_. It is about _science_ and understanding this new planet they have essentially claimed as their own.

He sincerely doubts that his people will ever deign to build a city on the planet’s surface. Back on _Atan’eal_ , their home world, they had surface cities. But here, Aetherians have come to see the surface as _dirty_ , much as they do the people and creatures living on it. Why they think that here, but they did not think that on their home world, is baffling to Castiel. Something happened before his time that changed how they think, and he has not yet asked about it.

Though it may be unlikely that they will ever build a city on the ground, he does wonder if they will ever build another floating city. It would be the only way for them to finally expand upon their numbers.

At this moment in time, there are roughly only fifteen thousand Aetherians alive. If any others survived the end of their home world, then Castiel has never heard of them. Each of the three existing cities on this planet has the capacity to house and feed five thousand residents at maximum, and they are always at that cap. Aetherians average a maximum age of two-hundred sol cycles, with the longest living on record to have reached two-hundred-twenty sol cycles.

It was not always that way. The genetic engineering that has become commonplace for their people extends that time frame for every other generation. Certainly they still lose people to injury, but sickness and disease is almost non-existent within their society. That too can be attributed to their skill with genetics. When an Aetherian is created in a lab with the characteristics requested by the parental units, only the best genes are used.

Of course, that does not mean that disease cannot develop, but it is extremely unlikely given everything involved in the process. If something does happen to develop, the Life Sciences Division has an excellent Functional Biology Department. The hospital is an annex under that department and gives the best care as needed to everyone in the city.

If a fourth sister city was to be built, a portion of the residents from all three existing cities would be selected to populate the new one. Should that ever happen in his lifetime, Castiel thinks he would be interested in moving there. They would have a whole new science sector that would need replenishing; new specimens to collect to build their own zoos. Ah, but that does give him pause. Could he be a part of that, knowing what his career path will be?

The first _homo sapien_ specimen to be added to their respective enclosure would be lonely if they were only able to collect one at a time. They are a very social species and require multiple members in their tribe to be more comfortable with their surroundings.

And that could be why the child below is having such a negative reaction to the introduction video. He is likely afraid of the unfamiliar technology, and coupling that with his missing family… Well, that would be an assumption, would it not? They do not know for certain if 1-M-7 still had a family in his original tribe. Even if he did, that would play no part in any consideration, as much as Castiel hates to think about it. He would hate to be separated from his own mother.

 _(Naomi, do you think it would be prudent to have someone go down and speak to 1-M-7?)_ Castiel flexes his grip on his PADD again and looks up at her. _(Perhaps he would find having someone speak with him more comforting than the recording.)_

Mother looks up from her PADD, a frown furrowing lightly between her brows. She glances at her co-worker before looking down at Castiel. _(We do not have anyone on staff at the moment who is fluent in Alpha Sector dialect to speak with him.)_

Castiel tries not to fidget under her gaze. _(I believe I could do it.)_ He looks down at 1-M-7 as he bangs his little fists on the wall. _(I intend to learn the different languages between the sectors, and I am certain that I am fairly fluent in Alpha Sector’s languages and its different dialects.)_

To everyone’s surprise, Mother’s upper wings flair out in surprise. She looks at him sharply, as do the three other co-workers of hers that have gathered around. _(This is the first that I have heard of this.)_

 _(I practice in private, as it would be inappropriate to do so in your presence.)_ And also because Castiel did not think that she would approve of him learning vocal languages. He feared being admonished by her.

_(Understandably so.)_

Mother sniffs, staring down at him for a long moment. Slowly, she turns to her co-workers to speak with them. Castiel is not privy to the conversation, though he can feel their _sha’ra_ as they speak to one another. If he wanted to, he could easily listen in. His _sha’ra_ was not included in the conversation, however, and it would be impolite of him to eavesdrop.

Aetherians do not have a vocal language, though they are capable of being verbal. They have _never_ had one. Their horn halos and telepathy are one of the few things about their genetics that they have not changed since they left _Atan’eal_. As such, Castiel found it quite difficult to work his tongue to make the words. He has a much different accent than any of the recordings of the language they have, but he is confident that he could be understood by the specimen if he spoke with them face to face.

It is, however, very disappointing to hear that none of the Zoologists currently on staff know how to speak the languages from the Alpha Sector. Clearly they rely too much on their computers to do the translations for them. Castiel knows this because he can see the translations being shared in the lower corner of his PADD. He reads the words just moments after he has heard them.

Eventually, Mother turns back to him. _(After discussing with my co-workers, we have decided to allow the integration into the tribe sooner than usual. We normally keep a specimen in the transition room for a while longer, but as this is a child, we will bend our rules this once.)_ She does tilt her head, though, and an almost-smile ghosts across her lips. _(I do commend you on learning their language, as filthy a task as it may be. You will be a valuable addition to the team when you complete your education.)_

Castiel tries not to preen under the compliment, but the downy feathers of his ears spread and fluff regardless. He ducks his head with a nod and distracts himself by quickly scribbling some notes regarding his thoughts on why the child might be reacting so poorly to the introduction video.

With that decision made, Mother issues the command to open the door. Castiel lowers his PADD and leans over to watch what happens next. 1-M-7 hides in the furs, sprinting across the room to throw himself at them. Somehow he manages to make it look like he is not there at all, but the adults who enter the room show critical thinking. They immediately narrow in on where he could be hiding, and attempt to lure him out.

Unfortunately, since they are not shouting like 1-M-7, Castiel cannot hear him. He has to rely on the recording devices within the transition room translating and sharing the conversation for him. The adults try to lure 1-M-7 from under the furs, and they do succeed… to some extent. 1-M-7 launches himself from under the furs and sprints past them, and Castiel finds that very interesting.

Should a child not find adults to be comforting? Certainly, any Aetherian child who is separated from their parental units when in a public setting will seek out the nearest adult to assist them, if even necessary in the first place. Aetherian children are quite bright and highly advanced even at a young age, unlike what has been documented of the _homo sapien_ species.

And yet, 1-M-7 still runs. He does a lap of the whole enclosure, pointedly avoiding the entire tribe where they gathered around the door to greet him. 1-M-7 disappears into the trees that make up one end of the enclosure, and Castiel makes a note about that. It is just a budding theory at the moment, but it could be possible that since 1-M-7 comes from Site C in the jungle forest, he may be more comfortable among the trees. This will require further monitoring to confirm.

The campsite in the enclosure is set up in the corner where the field meets the pool of water. As a specimen from a heavily treed area, Castiel fully believes that 1-M-7 will not enjoy being so out in the open. Given how he looked up at them already, 1-M-7 may be especially averse to the field and the campsite in the presence of Aetherians.

1-M-7 spends quite a while in the trees. Long enough for members of the tribe to return to the camp. One, however, breaks away from the group and heads towards where 1-M-7 was last seen. Castiel has to use his PADD to manipulate the camera feed of the enclosure to zoom in on the identifying tattoo on the back of his neck. Ah, that is 1-M-5 from Site B on the shores of the inland sea of the continent below. He was a rare collection where _two_ were collected from the same site at the same time.

Castiel watches as 1-M-5 walks into the trees. A moment later, 1-M-7 starts screaming. Castiel’s wings all spread in surprise before he reins in his reactions. Mother and her coworkers do not react the same, though they do lean in to observe more closely. 1-M-5 walks out with the child in his arms, and 1-M-7 is kicking and screaming the entire time he is carried across the field to the campsite.

Why is 1-M-5 doing this? He should have allowed 1-M-7 to adjust to his new surroundings. Eventually, he would most likely have sought the care and comfort of others. _Homo sapiens_ are a very social species and it is unlikely that a child would have stayed away from them for very long. But now 1-M-7 is more distraught then before, and Castiel feels… _bad_ for him. He is much smaller than 1-M-5 and he is unable to fight him off for his freedom.

Upon reaching camp, 1-M-5 puts the child down and Castiel moves further down the bridge to situate himself almost directly over the camp. He squats on the balls of his feet, setting himself away from his mother and her co-workers as they discuss the specimen. There is not much else to do at the moment, as things in the camp take a fairly boring turn. The conversation between his mother and her co-workers touches his _sha’ra_ and he listens only somewhat, taking notes of what they say while keeping a close eye on 1-M-7.

All the specimens of the enclosure are sitting around the campfire, talking too quietly for him to hear. While they may have cameras built into the edging of the bridge that are focused on following the various specimens, primarily used for observation and monitoring of health, there are no microphones to listen to what is said. Castiel can zoom in with the cameras and try to read their lips, but even his interest in their languages is not enough to quell that turn of his stomach when watching mouths move.

He swallows against the rise of his gorge, knowing that studying _homo sapiens_ means he will need to get used to seeing them talk and eat. With that firmly fixed in mind, Castiel takes control of one of the cameras and focuses it on 1-M-7’s face to observe him specifically. His face is red, covered in tears, and filled with emotions. _Homo sapiens_ have so many _expressions_ , and Castiel is not very good at understanding them. It is a weakness in his studies. He is much better with languages.

For every expression that 1-M-7 makes, Castiel saves a still image of it. Each one is saved into a file where he can compare it later to the examples from his lessons, and hopefully to figure out what they mean. At this point in time, he is almost positive that 1-M-7 is exhibiting anger, fear, and confusion. Given the situation he is currently in, all of them would be understandable emotions to be experiencing.

Castiel documents each member of the tribe that speaks with 1-M-7, taking note to monitor if any relationships form between them. At the moment, the mated pair of 1-M-2 and 1-F-1 seem to be the most concerned with his well being. They have a young female child of their own. Are they going to attempt to adopt 1-M-7 into their familiar unit? That seems the most logical. The only other specimen with a child is 1-F-2, but she appears to be intent on raising her daughter on her own.

1-F-2 was collected already missing her left eye, and heavily pregnant. Within the first thirty days of being collected, she gave birth to F-3, the female child that will hopefully one day take 1-M-7 as her mate. It will depend entirely on whether 1-F-2 will allow it. She has been fairly standoffish with the rest of the tribe in her many sol cycles here, and has thus far shown no interest in 1-M-7.

Eventually, the tribe stops trying to interact with 1-M-7. They split off into their own activities, leaving food and a blanket for 1-M-7 to make himself comfortable. Castiel finds it concerning that he has not touched the food yet. Of course there is no way of knowing when 1-M-7 ate last without checking his stomach contents, but what if he has not eaten for many hours? He is small, and a child. They need nutrients. Hopefully he will not put it off for much longer.

1-M-7 does not make any motion for the food for quite some time. He sits and watches the rest of the tribe go about their daily business, and Castiel watches him from his comfortable crouch off to one side of the bridge. Castiel assigns a camera to record 1-M-7 and have the file saved directly to his PADD, having the application run in the background while he opens his lesson plan again to continue with the studies he has started this earlier.

 _(Castiel.)_ Naomi touches his _sha’ra_ unexpectedly. He looks up as she approaches, her talons clicking on the quartz glass of the bridge. _(I have spoken with my co-workers. They have agreed to share to you any of the notes they take regarding 1-M-7 and their own observations.)_

As if summoned by her announcement, notifications begin popping up at the corner of his screen, a number counting up every new notification. Castiel blinks at it, surprised, before brushing gratefulness against his mother’s _sha’ra_ , knowing that she will share it with her co-workers. _(Thank you. Their notes will prove most useful.)_

She touches his hair lightly before returning to her coworkers. Castiel almost smiles, pleased to know that she is supporting him. He turns back to the anatomical charts he had been studying this morning, returning to focusing on memorizing the bone and muscular structure of a female _homo sapien_. Next will be comparing the difference to the structure of a male.

The rest of the day passes slowly. Castiel occasionally looks down at the tribe, checking in on 1-M-7 and writing a few notes. Not much else happens that requires his attention, though he does notice that the camera has recorded 1-M-7 speaking. That is a good sign. Communication with the tribe could mean that he is beginning to settle into his new home.

Regardless, Castiel does spend most of his time during the day focusing on his studies.

As the sun begins setting, the tribe within the enclosure gathers for their evening meal. One of the specimens, 1-M-4, takes his meal in his tent. He spends almost all of his time in his tent, and it has been that way since he was collected. Despite how Castiel is not that familiar with the specimens within the Alpha Sector enclosure, even he has heard of 1-M-4 rarely leaving his tent. Thus far, it has only been documented that he uses the latrine dug in the far corner of the forested section of the enclosure, or to welcome a new specimen.

It was the tribe that decided where their camp would be, and dug their own latrine. All of it was documented, and it has been noted across all sectors that _homo sapiens_ prefer to put the latrine from away from both their camp and their water source. This indicates some kind of understanding of waste and the leaching properties of the soil. Castiel finds that very intriguing. _Homo sapiens_ are far smarter than the most Aetherians give them credit for.

Once again, 1-M-7 does not touch the food that is offered to him, and neither does he speak to anyone. Several conversations are going on around the campsite, but 1-M-7 makes no effort to join them. Castiel cannot help but wonder if 1-M-7 will remain in the camp overnight, or if he will return to the trees. He is almost certain that he will choose the latter.

When dinner is done, and the fire banked, the specimens break away to return to their own tents. The redheaded female, 1-F-5, stays with 1-M-7 and the parental units of F-4. The three of them speak with 1-M-7, but he simply shakes his head. Whatever they offered him, it appears to have been firmly rejected. 1-M-7 remains where he is as the others break away to their respective tents.

Castiel breathes a quiet sigh of relief through his nose when 1-M-7 finally picks up the food the tribe left for him. He stands and looks up at the bridge and the gathered Aetherians with one last glare. The camera on Castiel’s screen magnifies it enough to show the hatred in his green eyes. Castiel is almost taken aback by it. He has never had anyone _hate_ him before.

1-M-7 takes both the food and the blanket still wrapped around his shoulders with him as he returns to the trees, just as Castiel suspected he would. He still documents that the newest specimen has curiously chosen to isolate himself from the rest of the tribe for the night. It does lend credence to his theory that anyone from Site C will find more comfort amongst the trees, but that will require further observance for actual confirmation. 

Now that the tribe has retired for the night and there is nothing more to observe, Mother stretches her wings out in Castiel’s peripherals before turning to him. _(Are you ready to return?)_

 _(Yes, Naomi.)_ He stands as well and stretches both of his arms above his head, curving his spine. He shakes out his legs and notices for the first time that some of her coworkers have left at some point in the day. _(This has been a very informative day.)_

She smiles at him, close lipped but her eyes warm and her _sha’ra_ indicating that she is pleased. _(I am glad that you were here for this. Come, let us review on the way home.)_

They discuss their opinions and thoughts on the day and 1-M-7 as they head to the lift that will take them directly to the roof of the building. From there, they take off together, gliding down along the edge of the dome until they can break away and soar between the other rounded edges of the rest of the science sector. Since this side of the city is raised above the residential sector, they will be able to glide directly to the landing pad outside their unit.

With night fully upon them, _Ra’haya_ is lit with rings of light surrounding the base of each building. It reflects through the water that makes up the floor of the city, and is more than satisfactory to see by. Aetherians have excellent night vision, so it is of little concern to them how much light is available to them. Castiel has always considered the light to be more for aesthetic purposes than any actual use.

One of the rotating gyroscopic rings is rising over the edge of the city, a sliver of reflective metal peeking into view. It moves slowly and will pass overhead in a few hours. There are two rings that encircle the city, held in place by supports built into the sides of the city. Powerful magnetic forces are used to keep _Ra’haya_ floating, but the rings are what keep it balanced. They also help provide power via the solar panels on their outside edges. Wind turbines built into the underside of the city also transmit power to the batteries that power the city.

Using clean energy is _very_ important to Aetherians. If they ever leave _Har’adid_ , they do not wish to have caused disease and destruction to it like they did their home world. Its destruction can be laid squarely on their shoulders, not that anyone will ever truly admit it. But Castiel has read the historical records, and he knows that they killed it. They polluted the world until it started to kill them back, forcing them to leave or risk dying with it.

Castiel’s thoughts linger on all the changes they have made to get to where they are now even as they land at home. The door unlocks to the chips in their wrists, and he goes straight to his desk. He curls his talons into his perch and drops into the same comfortable squat he spent the day in, however it is _much_ better when on a perch.

His mother moves about in the background as Castiel uploads the data from his PADD to his desk. There is so much information to review that he will need additional screens than just the one that takes up the whole of his desk. He activates the holographic options with a touch, and the sensor bar at the top of the desk starts throwing his files up into the space above it. The same bar will follow Castiel’s movements and allow him to grab files and enlarge them for reading, close them entirely, or move them back to the screen to work on them directly.

 _(1-M-7 is fascinating.)_ Castiel flicks through the various files he gathered from today, organizing them as he maintains conversation with his mother. He draws up more papers from the Zoological Division, some of which even have Naomi’s name on them. _(Research has shown that when children are collected, they have sought the comfort of the adults in the enclosure. Children form tight, almost familial, bonds with the adults. You yourself have theorized that they replace their original family with a new one, and yet… 1-M-7 is acting contrary to what we know.)_

He is an _outlier_ , and Castiel is very much looking forward to seeing how 1-M-7 will further push the boundaries of what they know about collected _homo sapien_ children.

 _(It has only been one day, but I look forward to seeing how he will react tomorrow.)_ Mother is most pleased with him for pointing that out, and she does not hesitate to share that through their _sha’ra_.

Castiel flexes his grip on his perch. _(May I accompany you again?)_ He looks up at her with wide, hopeful eyes, and both pairs of wings dropping into a pleading gesture. He even angles his ear-wings downwards to appear more pathetic.

Mother rolls her eyes and crosses the room to him. She cups his face in her hands and leans down to press her forehead against his. It is a simple, quick, and chaste gesture of affection, but it is one that she has not given him often. She straightens and ruffles his hair light. _(Of course you may.)_

Works every time.

He presses his gratefulness against her _sha’ra_ as he turns back to his desk. _(Thank you, Naomi. I look forward to studying 1-M-7 further.)_

It may be late in the evening, but Castiel still begins reviewing the research papers from both the Zoological Annex of the Biology Department and the Psychology Department of the Social Sciences Division. While he fully plans to major in zoology, perhaps having a minor in psychology would be beneficial for his lessons.

He has yet to decide on a thesis topic, but... Castiel’s gut is telling him that there is something special about 1-M-7 and he should keep an eye on him.

Every day, Castiel goes to work with his mother. She has many things to do as part of her job, so she leaves him to take up residence above the Alpha Sector enclosure on his own. He could easily have watched the cameras from home where he would still be able to continue his studies, but he prefers this to be able to keep an eye on 1-M-7. Mother, in her ever present efforts to support him, has ensured that all her co-workers continue to share their own notes and observations to Castiel’s PADD.

According to everyone’s notes, Castiel is not surprised to learn that 1-M-7 does spend most of his time among the trees. He has rejected wearing his tunic, and is often seen wearing just the loincloth that was given to him. Sadly, 1-M-7 does not appear to be blending well with the rest of the tribe. Castiel has witnessed it himself as 1-M-7 avoids the members of the tribe while he thoroughly explores the entirety of the enclosure.

The ivy that covers the walls of the enclosure is a purely aesthetic addition to the habitat. It was learned fairly early on during their specimen collection that _homo sapiens_ in particular reacted rather negatively to the clinically white walls that the enclosures originally started with. Yet, in all the many sol cycles since they started collecting specimens, they have never had one attempt to _climb_ the ivy.

Castiel has documented two occasions where 1-M-7 attempted to climb the ivy on the walls. The ivy was planted at the bottom of the wall and encouraged to grow upwards, then drape downwards again on the opposite side. As such, without anchoring at the top, the vines were unable to support 1-M-7’s weight on both occasions that he attempted to use them. He did not climb very far before they gave out. Luckily, no injuries were sustained.

1-M-7 is a very… _difficult_ specimen. Castiel is not the only one to have noticed that there is open hostility between him and 1-M-5. Every since that first day, 1-M-7 will run if he is approached by 1-M-5, and has even been seen to hide from him. This is fairly unsurprisingly, as 1-M-5 has been observed to antagonize other tribe members on occasion. The reclusive 1-M-4 fought with him as well, shortly after 1-M-5 and 1-M-6 were added to the enclosure.

Even the females seem to take issue with 1-M-5’s attitude. The redheaded 1-F-5 and the one-eyed 1-F-2 are from the same tribe as 1-M-5. While they get along well with each other, both of them do not seem to like 1-M-5 a lot. It is only 1-M-6, the older male who was collected at the same time as 1-M-5 from the same tribe, that seems to get along with him.

The dynamics of the specimens and their relationships is most intriguing. If Castiel were not so focused on 1-M-7 and his integrating into the tribe, perhaps he would be more interested in studying how the rest of them get along. So far, he has not looked too much into their histories. Most of what he knows of them is what he has observed during his days overlooking the enclosure and monitoring 1-M-7.

He has noted that 1-M-1 and 1-M-3, the dark-skinned specimens from Site D, tend to keep to themselves. They have spoken to 1-M-7 several times, and he does occasionally respond to them, but he is mostly stubbornly silent. Almost as much as he avoids 1-M-5, he also avoids the young female close to his age, F-3. The youngest child, F-4, seems interested, but 1-M-7 refuses to interact with her in any way. Castiel can only begin to guess why.

F-4’s parental units are still trying to interact with 1-M-7. Of all the specimens within the tribe, he seems the most receptive to their advances and that of the redheaded 1-F-5. Despite that, 1-M-7 still continues to keep himself separate from the rest of the tribe. And Castiel finds that so very odd, if only because nothing 1-M-7 has done over the last few days have been the same as the other children collected. He is truly a very stubborn specimen.

Five days. It has been _five_ days and 1-M-7 still has not spent any significant time with the rest of the tribe, including at meal time. He will allow himself to be brought back to sit with them by one of the adults, but he will not partake with them. Instead, 1-M-7 will sit apart and not talk with them. It is only when the sun sets that he will take his food back to the trees, after which Castiel will leave with his mother.

Just like as he eats, 1-M-7 does most things on his own, even swimming. Neither of the other two children are allowed to do so without an adult in the water with them, yet 1-M-7 dives in on his own, often going deep under the water. Castiel was worried the first time he did that, and was very nearly ready to send someone down to save him. Aetherians cannot swim, so that was a truly harrowing moment, as Castiel would not have been able to do anything to help.

In truth, now that 1-M-7 has dove to the bottom of the pool several times, Castiel is starting to think he is up to something. Is he exploring the pool the same as he has been exploring the rest of the enclosure? Castiel has seen him crawling along the walls, inspecting them centimeter by centimeter. Since the vines failed him, is he still looking for a way out? If that is truly what is going on, then that is truly amusing, if not a little heartbreaking. They have never had anyone escape their enclosure before.

Castiel marks down, privately, that 1-M-7 is more than just stubborn. He is a fighter, and Castiel predicts that he will _not_ take captivity well.

In between his observations of 1-M-7, the vast majority of his time is spent simply crouching over the Alpha Sector enclosure whilst working on his lessons from his PADD. It is far more difficult using this tiny screen than the large one built into his desk at home, but at least he is being productive. In a sense. He does have to keep pausing his lessons every time he has an idea for his thesis. There is a file open at all times now where he has begun to frame it.

While Castiel may be young, it is never too early to begin working on it. Once his thesis is complete, he will need to submit it and have it approved by the board that oversees the Life Sciences Division’s Biology Department. If he wants to work as a Zoologist, which he does, then they _need_ to accept his thesis. Age will not play into their decision. What he needs to prove is that he has a firm grasp on what it is the Biology Department does, and that he understands the subject matter he wishes to specialize in.

In Castiel’s case, he wants to specialize in _homo sapiens_. As well, the more he watches 1-M-7 defy what they have come to learn about young tribespeople, the more he wants to work here. 1-M-7 may very well be the key to his thesis. Castiel has already decided to frame it around the psychology of collected children and how it may affect their development. All that data that he gathers about 1-M-7 can be compared to the children from the Beta, Gamma, Delta, Epsilon, and Zeta Sectors.

Of course Castiel will have to include something about the differences identified between those born in captivity versus those collected from the wild. And he will need to frame out a section for commentary on an adult’s adaptability to a new surrounding versus a child’s. Thankfully, there is a large database for him to reference, but there is more to consider.

For instance, how does culture play into it? They are already well aware of the differences between the cultures of one sector and the next. And the _homo sapiens_ in captivity almost seem to create one of their own that is separate from what they had prior to their collection.

There are many new things that Castiel has thought about since 1-M-7 was collected. He has spent a _lot_ of time reading into _homo sapien_ psychology. Previously, he had been looking at them in a purely anatomical light with the intent of working with them medically to ensure their health, much like what his mother does. But now, after five days of watching 1-M-7 refuse to join a tribe that would mean safety, security, and support, all Castiel can think about is what could be going through his mind. He wants to understand the why, the how, and the _reasoning_ for it all.

It will be difficult, however. Every time he looks down at 1-M-7 and finds him staring up with anger and hatred on his face, all Castiel can feel is a sense of pity – a desire to _help_. And he is well aware of how that is _not_ a good thing.

A hand taps him firmly on the back between the joints of his upper wings and draws Castiel from his sleep cycle. He lifts his head from where it lay on his crossed arms on the resting bar, and his upper wings fold back from where they had been lifted over his head. A quick glance at the chronometer on the wall tells him that it is shortly after dawn and he has only been sleeping for a few hours. He stayed up far later than normal to complete one of his lessons, but he does not regret it. They were very informative and he enjoyed the subject matter.

 _(Yes?)_ Castiel is instantly awake, regardless of how little he has slept. He has near perfect control over his body and he can make such little rest work for him.

Mother stands at the edge of his roost, her face stern and her _sha’ra_ radiating an emotion very similar to concern. _(I have just been informed of an altercation in the Alpha Sector enclosure that involved 1-M-7. I must be present for the reports on the incident and to inspect the specimen. As such, I must leave now.)_

It is unsurprising that his mother was asked to come in. She is the overseer for the Alpha Sector enclosure, and must be kept informed of all that happens within it. Mother has the final say on all changes and care of the specimens, and Castiel is most proud of her for the hard work she put in to be awarded the position.

What is odd about this is that she does not normally wake him up before she leaves. On previous occasions such as this, he would merely wake up at his usual time to a notice on his PADD. But Castiel understands why she has made a change to her habits, and he is most grateful for it.

 _(May I come?)_ He has read the procedures on what to do in the case of an altercation between specimens, but he would still like to witness it in person.

Her expression softens and pride touches Castiel’s _sha’ra_ briefly. _(Of course, Castiel.)_

 _(Thank you.)_ Castiel stands up and stretches his back and wings briefly before hopping down from his roost. _(I will be ready momentarily.)_

Mother must still get dressed herself, so she leaves him to prepare quickly. Castiel rushes, which would be frowned upon in any other situation. He cannot help it. Rarely has he ever had something to _worry_ about in his life, but 1-M-7 seems to inspire that in him. He is _worried_ for 1-M-7 and what may have happened to him, and all Castiel can do is hope that he is alright.


End file.
